Legend Of The Batman
by ImperfectSystem
Summary: It came from the shadows. A dark and deadly creature. Criminals are often a superstitious lot...But I saw it. As tall as a tank, powerful than one too, with black leather wings, sharp horns like the devil's...and the eyes...We are a superstitious lot, but I will never forget what it said to me...I am vengeance...I am the night...
1. Gordon

_**Gotham City Police Department**_

 **-O-**

 **TESTIMENT AS ACCORDING TO—**

 **Det. James Gordon,**

 _ **Friday 25**_ _ **th**_ _ **MAY, 2012**_

 _ **1**_ _ **st**_ _ **Precinct**_

 **-O-**

I came to this town without much expectation of the type of work I'd be doing. Mostly paperwork was what I was told would be in store. You could imagine my shock to see that paperwork was close to never completed in the precincts. Small thing to be worried of, I'm sure, but I'm usually a strong believer of discipline.

My wife and I came to Gotham on a whim. Housing anywhere else was expensive and the only one that offered a school, shops and work in close enough proximity was the grimmest city in the United States. Crime stats were rising and honestly…no one in the GCPD really cared and it was seriously bugging the crap out of me.

I mean, last week while off duty, Bullock and I were witness to an armed robbery at a convenient store. We had the means, the weapons and the position…but when I wanted to make a move, I found myself on the floor with a huge headache, courtesy of Bullock's mean right-hook. 'Lesson four, rookie,' he told me, 'If your name's not on the roster for the day, it aint your business.'

A hard lesson to learn…

One I intended wholeheartedly to ignore.

That just wasn't how I was brought up. I found that same problem in service to America. The United States Marine Corp taught me to ignore the things we did, but the point was that I saw the violence, the treatment of civilians we considered enemies, and I don't want to have to do the same thing to my own people.

Barbara thinks I'm way over my head. That I should just do what they ask me to do, see what they tell me to see and nothing more. Perhaps she was right. Ever since I moved to the city, no good ever came from playing the hero.

Perhaps that was a job reserved for someone else?

But despite all its flaws, despite the rough housing citizens and decrepit skyscrapers, I truly love this city. Maybe _love_ is a too strong a word? I hold Gotham in a special place in my history—I was raised here, in this city. Dad was a cop, grandparents were cops, it's…a family legacy. It was one I tried to deny, that I tried to run away from… I didn't get very far.

Okay, so around May, I was off duty yet again, but this time, I chose to spend the charming night with my wife. It was raining, pouring beyond belief. I made it my responsibility that Barb wouldn't get wet and myself as well of course.

A week before was spent establishing a series of street networks with the lower class citizens, starting with the Narrows around Arkham. Hence why that night with my wife I had gotten a text from a little girl named Kathy. A group of men, drug dealers that she believed were on the Mafia's payroll had gathered at an abandoned warehouse, dragging with them a female hostage with a potato sack over her head.

I apologised to Barb with a promise for a raincheck. I could tell she was hesitant to say yes, nevertheless she knew how important my job was. I went to the location Kathy gave me, armed only with my Glock 22 (.45 calibur, 9mm rounds), a standard police weapon, nothing special. The place was boarded up— quick background check found it was once a LexCorp facility before he lost interest in his Gotham branch…I wouldn't blame him, building anything in the Narrows probably isn't a wise move.

There was a fire-escape to my right leading up to an observation platform where I could sneak in. Two, maybe three dozen armed gangsters I've personally written up profiles on our most wanted list. Salvatore Maroni's men from what I could gather. I texted Bullock the info but knowing him I knew I'd regret it sooner or later.

Next a truck had come in and they opened it revealing more than five hundred Ks worth of what I could gather was cocaine.

They then started talking. I couldn't hear them over the loud patter of rain, banging against the thin metal.

There was too many of them, too much firepower than I could face alone, all the same, I loaded my gun, took the safety off and snuck my way down and behind a stack of crates, around four metres all sides, rust leaking from the bottom corners. I checked the top, recently opened and by the number of scratches, multiple times.

A cache?

I crawled over to the edge, this way I'd get a better look and maybe catch a few words. After a moment to survey the area, I found the hostage. They took the sack off of her head—blonde, late twenties, slender form, a face I recognised…Vicki Vale of the Gotham Gazette. I shouldn't be overly surprised to find a reporter in the midst of danger.

I tried to move to another crate a few feet away when…

'Look at what we have here,' I shot up instinctively and found myself surrounded by at least twenty semi-automatic barrels aimed at me. 'You must be the new guy.'

They beat me up real good and pushed me into the middle of the warehouse where they had the truck parked. On my knees I look to Ms Vale, I smile at her, masking the many fearful thoughts training my head. 'Nice to meet you, Ms Vale,' I huffed. 'The wife's a huge fan.'

One of them laughed. 'He looks so calm, paisan.'

'Now…I'm going to have to ask you guys bluntly, but before I do…in case I don't make it…' I struggled to pick myself up. 'You guys have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law…'

I stopped short when I saw their smiles fading. The lights began to flicker above and then…the bulbs started to explode. A shower of glass coated us and I ran to shield Ms Vale from them.

All of this was soon accompanied by wailing from one of the Italians, 'Merda!' It was hard to see in the dark but that man now had…some sort of knife sticking out of his shoulder.

'Cazo, is it Nightwing?'

Another of the Mafia gangsters began to shoot blindly at the ceiling. 'Show yourself!'

'Shut up, Max!' grumbled the one who got stabbed. 'And put that freaking thing away!'

Safe to say none of them listened, they took out their guns and unleashed an array of bullets at a small shadow on the back wall above some more crates.

They shot for a few minutes until their clips had completely diminished. The shadow was gone. As I recall it looked like some sort of cat, a fox maybe…well something with pointy ears. Did they kill it…no. The shadow…it rose up…much larger, and it kept getting bigger and more menacing, all the while I saw the Italians shriek down. 'That's not Nightwing,' I heard one of them say.

Then as I held the reporter close, I saw the shadow pounce away from the wall and like a bolt of lightning, sprung on Maroni's men, knocking one out, then another, and another. I could hear the sound of bones cracking, yelps interrupted, I saw them drop like flies until there was one left.

The man named Marcus started to back away, trying to get to the car while simultaneously trying to reload his UZI. It sort of made me laugh, the barrage of Italian slurs spewing out of this guy…was comical…in a dark way.

And then it appeared—descending from the ceiling. A physical form of dark emptiness, a leathery creature with ears like it came straight from hell itself.

Marcus aimed the gun and started shooting but the creature was suddenly at his side, hand on the Italian's wrist, holding the gun up. I remember that look on Marcus' face. Sheer terror was oozing out of him in spades. 'What do you want?!'

The dark creature took his gun and threw the man onto the ground. He released the clip and the singular bullet.

'What do you want?!'

He took a few steps back and Marcus matched his steps backwards. Then…it stopped. 'I want you to tell Maroni about me. So he better behave or I'm coming for him, and all of you guys,' he started talking, more like grunted loudly as if his voice was modified.

Marcus nodded frantically. 'What are you?!'

The creature clenched his fists and in one swift move, knocked the gangster out cold. It turned around, looked at straight at me. I felt my heart beating, thumping like drums in a chaotic rhythm. We held our gazes for a moment and then suddenly there was a flash of light and next I saw…it was gone again, retreated into the shadows.

I can't tell what that was, nobody surely believed me. Wasn't really expecting them to. I saw a demon of myth and legend with my waking eyes. I saw it crack down on Maroni's drug-dealing commanders and make the cry for their mothers. Sal Maroni, a ruthless man…no a monster who held half this city's balls in his grip…was this creature planning on starting a war?

I told the precinct what I saw, they told me to just take the credit for the bust and leave it at that. There was no creature of the night, no vanishing demon that helped us gather hard evidence on Sal's crime family…not enough to incarcerate him, but enough to keep the son-of-a-bitch chained up for a while. Clean streets for a month, maybe five.

But whatever that thing was, it was going to change things in this city.

But Sal wasn't taking it. Bullock says there acting like this bat creature doesn't exist. In fact, crime had spiked, and spiked and spiked…then… for a few days…it stopped.

Why? Bullock and I led a team of officers to storm one of Sal's caches. Captain said it was because we got a tip of illegal smuggling in that part of town. I knew they were just checking up on one of Sal's shops and why they were radio silent for two weeks.

Inside seemed like what was left of a battlefield. Everyone was knocked out, tied up with fifty grams of coke. I saw some dangling in a hole in the walls. One even had his head stuck in the floorboards…it was brutal. In the master bedroom I caught up with Marcus once again…he was crucified to the green patterned wall, nailed down by the hands and feet in a cross with some sort of symbol seared on his chest in the shape of a stylised bat. He was alive, but only barely, all bloodied up from head to toe, his curly hair was red and wet.

I tried to make sure he was alright while Joe called up an ambulance. But I barely touched him when we heard a rumble beneath us. Then…from a large crack on the wall, millions of black bats stormed through. They'll tell you different, but I'll say it straight…we pissed ourselves screaming.

That was when we started to give him a name…

 **-O-**

 **-Legend Of The-**

— **BATMAN—**

 **-O-**

 **DISCLAIMER:** **All characters included here are trademarked by DC Comics and reserved ownership of them to the Publication (DC Comics).**


	2. Falcone

_**Gotham City Police Department**_

 **-O-**

 **TESTIMENT AS ACCORDING TO—**

 **Don Carmine Falcone,**

 _ **Tuesday 16**_ _ **th**_ _ **JULY, 2012**_

 **-O-**

 _Mia Madre mi diceva che la gente vede il potere dove pensano che dovrebbe essere_ …I have to force where I see power upon everyone else, that's the secret to it all, how I have built my famiglia into a new empire in Gotham. I let them see my power where it best fits in their fears.

Soon half of Gotham will be mine, the wealthy of Upper Town were easy enough to control, all I needed to do was catalogue them and their preferences, their pressure points, the more they had in their possession, the more they have to lose. And make no mistake, they have so much to lose…

And the rest of them, on the other side of that spectrum, a singular pressure point—one that has earned them my respect. Family was what they coveted. Every decision they made was to better their family. They work to get money to provide for their coniuge e figli, so I provide that. They buy drugs to numb the pain that comes from running a family, to better be there for them, so I provide that anche.

They also need to know how to fear me as well.

But yeah, it was a hard road to get at. In this city, there really isn't much going for people. I got it embedded in my head a long time ago—unless you were made from money, don't expect to see any. That is, unless you take it by force.

For me it was a couple of armed robberies here and there, set up trusted networks in the sales and transport companies. My good friend Salvatore Maroni hooked me up with dealers running their own gigs. All I had to do was shoot a couple of people, torture a few more, and make the rest a deal they couldn't refuse—even if they wanted to.

Yeah, I've killed people, liked it too…but looking at my family now, seated at the long dinner table, and I have enough family to crowd it, I feel like it was all worth it.

'Pass the salad, Carmine,' I felt somewhat a certain sadness to feel lips parted from my wife's, looking annoyed at my young nephew Riario. 'What are you blind or lazy?' I said to him, 'The fucking salad is like right in front of you!'

Somehow it was funny and everyone started laughing. I sighed and decided to laugh along with them.

Yeah my life is God sent. Once I had nothing, just an immigrant living in Cheap-side Gotham having to work every hour of my life because my good for nothing old man was too fucking lazy, now I live in a pristine white house with more than a hundred rooms, I'm wasting away a two thousand buck bottle of wine and it doesn't bother me one bit.

But don't go thinking that I've lost my touch. Money's not nearly enough to change a man like me, sitting behind a chair, smoking cigars while my men do all of the heavy lifting.

No, I'd rather get my hands dirty…

Last night I went to the Narrows, the small spit of land in between Gotham's Midtown and Downtown was home to the decaying. It was one of the first places they built things on—the nuthouse being one of them. Some of the city's weirdest freakazoids, and I mean the biggest creeps you could ever imagine.

The Narrows is also the best place to find people with nothen. Only place left to go with nothen.

There was where I made the drop, but first was the pick-up at the docks. Right now I owned the northern part of the harbour, a front that the Russians would not let go too easily. If you control the waterfront you control the flow of most everything else.

An opportunity had arisen for me to expand my portion of the ports. All I needed was a flawless deal with Yuri Dimitrov of the Russian clan.

At 45 Portside Boulevard was a warehouse, ancient, abandoned, and owned by Dimitrov. Poetic—I walked in with my men, some of Sal's were already there too, for this night we would have peace. 'Ciao, paisano,' I greeted my countrymen. They huddled around another man, tied to a chair by the feet and wrists with a bag over his head.

'Buona sera, don Falcone,' replied Petruccio, Sal's right hand man they tell me. 'We have him.'

I smiled at him, not a rather trusting one though. I hated Salvatore Maroni. They come into my town, refuse my offer to join my family and expect me to roll over and let them run Gotham? Not even the Russians are that thick. Then again, they're all Bastardi.

I remove the bag to quite a handsome young lad. 'Iosef Dimitrov, pleasure to meet you,' I smiled at him. He was silenced by duct-tape, his eyes a bloodshot red. 'Do you know who I am, boy?' He nodded, fear. He was Yuri's son and as such was entrusted by good old Yuri to hold the waterfront.

So this was how it was going to work out—when it came to ownership, we have to always work in the shadows. This part of the harbour was owned according to the papers by Hermes Transport. They do all the usual boring stuff at minimal wage but they don't complain, because Dimitrov pays them well. On paper they have absolutely no ties to Russian gangs and the cops back off a little. What if that was going to change? I give evidence of gang related business, of questionable legality, make it public so the police have no choice but to seize the "assets", Hermes is shut down and the Southern parts are open for sale with a discounted price once they see what's down here.

I removed the tape and we all began our interrogation.

You see, I have discovered the reason why the Russians are so hot right now. It hides underneath the entire port. A large cache of unknown drugs left here from the civil war times…drugs that were said to make people insane...and they supply these drugs to a very rich and powerful company…Wayne Enterprises. Their leaders have done so for years, creating sick people that then get sent to Arkham.

Those guys don't care who runs the place, so long as they get their stuff.

But that was the asset that I needed, the police cannot get their hands on them. No I needed something more.

'…they…we're expecting a shipment of women in an hour. They were going to go to Nicko's Paradise Brothel…' He struggled, coughing out blood, probably because I let Sal's boys have some fun with them.

I smiled, that was the thing, often times with these Russians— they don't much give a fuck about family. If it were me, I'd be dead by now…or well someone would be.

The shipments came and we checked the cargo holds. They were all there and I told two people that night—Loeb and Summer Gleeson. By next morning I should be hearing about this in the news. Molto bene.

But before the police came, I wanted another checkmate.

I wanted Summer to investigate first, so I took Iosef to Sal's terf, killed his men and then…I took Iosef's little wife and children. I wasn't going to kill him—I wanted to let him watch my men rape his wife, wanted him and his children to watch her slowly begin to enjoy it. It brought back some memories. I once did this same thing a while ago, a snitch for the GCPD was caught in my circle, I can't remember his name, only that he had a beautiful wife, and I mean she was hot. I myself personally had the honours of turning her screams of pain and agony into pleasure while her husband the snitch watched and cried and yelled like I now watched Dimitrov doing.

Last I saw of the snitch, he was messed up, wouldn't stop smiling, crazed look in his eyes…so I shot him and dumped his ass in the river but not before letting him watch me put a bullet between her eyes.

Good times…

I'm practically recycling…well it was a good statement.

'This is my town.'

So there we were, I think it was Giovanni's birthday or that we were introducing his new lady…I'd consider that a birthday anyway…

We had just said our grace and dug in. The Mrs knows how to cook I can tell you that, I thank Christ every night. You know what's weird…I hadn't cleaned my hands that night and I could still taste the iron.

Anyway, everything seemed all fine and dandy, until suddenly the lights all came out. We were slightly jumpy, the next thing we knew the windows all around the house shattered and the house was spewing with bats. We were all running around scared shitless and then…the winged devils started to vanish, clearing the dining room… I have to admit, confession to my Padre as it were, that I too was pissen myself with fear when I saw it, standing on the table in front of me.

'Diavolo,' my wife screams, pointing at it as she backs away, 'Diavolo!'

She was right, it was a "Devil" in black, eyes glowing white but I knew it was looking at me. 'Well,' I stood facing him, 'what do you want?!'

He grabbed me by the collar and lifted me off the ground. Then, it pulled me closer to it…and spoke. 'I know what you did last night, the lives you took…and I've come for you.'

'What are you going to do to me?'

It turned its horned head and started to look around us, at everyone else in the room. 'I'm going to make you watch…'

My eyes, they grew larger, my terror, rising. I was helpless. 'Dio, libera nos a malo,' I muttered. 'Diavolo…'

'No…' it spoke again, its eyes burning through my skull. I wish I had my gun. 'I am Justice…'

 **-O-**

* * *

 **-O-**

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hoped this was an interesting chapter. It's certainly something rather new to me and I wasn't sure why it entered my mind. Batman has always been a rather enticing character to me. Superhero-wise my favourite's Superman but that's why I really love the chemistry of them two, contrasting concepts. It's one of the things I love about the DC universe, that I thought was lacking in BvS and why the ending didn't work for me correctly. The relationship of Batman and Superman was sorely lacking, it needed at least two films just them two.**

 **So hope you guys like this chapter and hope it isn't too dark, nevertheless your opinions and insight will be helpful.**


	3. Two Brothers

_**Gotham City Police Department**_

 **-O-**

 **TESTAMENT AS ACCORDING TO—**

 **Francis Miller**

 _ **Monday 6**_ _ **th**_ _ **August, 2012**_

At sundown was when we planned to infiltrate City Hall Bank. It was the rare times when the banks had a sloppy security team. Our window of opportunity was small. A few minutes in and out.

Took a drill and a decrypter, cracked the safe and made off with six point five million bucks and made off as fast as we could.

We never wanted to be crooks, but when you live in the Narrows, when you got you rich folk, you powerful one percenters out there, pushing us down like that, of course there'll be shit rising up from the stinker. I know my older brother. Me, I'm a do what you have to kinda guy, even if it aint right. As long as I can provide for my family, that's enough to wipe my hands clean of blood with…Fuck…Lynn's gonna kill me.

But Bob…he's always been a wimp. He's older by three years but he's still a freaking kid, living in a fantasy world of rainbows and heroes. He's always been the do-gooder. Hates lying, hates stealing…dude, I even had to stop that guy from leaving a not in that vault that said "Sorry, we'll pay you back", he's a fucking idiot.

Me, people like me, we're the aftermath of what you guys throw away.

Anyway…I got the access code for the seventh vault…don't ask me why or how…I've already forgotten. Anyway, we got the cash; I believe there was over six million that we took from you guys. The plan was to bust our way outside from the front, boss gave me some C-4 and would be waiten for us there…when he was a no show, we decided on topside. But like…where were we gonna go? I said why don't we jump it, you know, like bad asses and just jump to the other rooves.

That was when he showed up. Appeared out of nowhere and just stared at us. I heard what they say about him on the streets. What De Santos says about him…They're all right. He was a fucking beast. Last week me and Dantes were in a gang war…not participating, mind you. We were in the apartment on Fleets, there were like dozens on the streets, all armed and firing.

Then the Bat showed up and he was wasten on both sides—White Supremacist gang and Raymond's crew. He was disappearen, shadow to shadow, throwing them across the road…fuck, it was a bloody massacre.

So we were careful, well, I was. Bob was flinchy, he shot at him first. I didn't think he had it in him. He shot the Batman a couple of times.

Look….it was only cash. Stuff I doubt those rich guys would miss if we took a couple. No excuse of course but still. It wasn't something to beat us up over.

The Batman's bad. From my reckoning we were lucky to come out of it alive. I still can't believe we lived through that, and what was my big brother doing, standing there like a little kid, defenceless. He took our guns, when we took out our knives, damn…He down right fucked us up. Couldn't get the damn blade to eve touch him, he was like fucking smoke.

Anyway, he managed to knock me out cold. Woke up tied to Bob on the side of the streets and here we are. God my brother's a fucking moron…I don't think I could trust that guy again…But I guess I know why…

 _ **Det. : Okay, Mr Miller, what about your boss? Tell us who hired you, why and where he could find him and you and your bro get off scotch free.**_

Sorry, man, but I don't ask questions. He leaves me a folder with plans and maps, even four grand for incentive. Apart from that…everything's need to know.

— **=o=—**

 **TESTAMENT AS ACCORDING TO—**

 **Robert A. Kane**

 _ **Monday 6**_ _ **th**_ _ **August, 2012**_

I never wanted to be a criminal. I never wished to be like him, like dad. Perhaps it's that, or maybe it's just all of my bad decisions and mistakes that sorta stacked up. The Narrows, they're bad, I know it don't excuse anything, but when we start thinking no one cares about us, doesn't take long before we believe they won't care what we do.

I've never stolen a thing in my life and I really didn't intend to. But my younger brother, I thought he was right, I believe every single thing he tells me, always have. He said that it would help me, he said that it would help mom, it would help Jane…my daughter.

We went in, the security systems were offline—don't know why and Frank didn't care. We went in, quietly, he had the combination…not sure how, we got in and took as much cash as we could get our hands on. And to be honest, I sorta lost myself…I mean we saw all that cash and… I don't know, it just…took me. I hadn't seen so much cash before.

We got everything we needed and bolted out of there. At first we tried the front door…I mean why not, right. But it was Frank who told me had planted four bombs on the doors. They exploded of course and he dragged me out. I was still truthfully scared.

We heard sirens coming so we decided to go up the fire escape. We got up but obviously, we were stuck. That was when I said we should try jumping across rooftops.

That was when the Batman showed up. He dropped down from the skies, his eyes were white, glowing. He was covered in the shadows. Yeah…I was afraid.

We both took out our guns. It was reflex, I shot first but I have to admit my aim wasn't good. I missed him, or he dodged I can't remember. Anyway…he threw some sort of knife or something, knocked the guns right out of our hands.

Once we were unarmed, Frank pulled out a knife…I was so stupid, I did the same. By that point we were just winging it. I just needed to follow my little brother—fucked up right. He was waiting for me to make the first strike, but I froze so he did. Frank tried to take on the Batman but the guy was faster than him, dodged every one of Frank's hits like it was nothing.

Then he punched Frank in the jaw, sending him to the floor. After I got my gun back I just stood there, probably looking dumb. I didn't know what to do. Frank kept yelling at me, telling me to just hit him. He told me to get him. I held the gun up, aimed it at the Batman and he did nothing but stand there. He didn't even look like he was going to do anything. But I saw it in his eyes. He wasn't going to do anything…I think he wanted me to.

It was like he was giving me a choice then and there, telling me that I could either pull the trigger and go down in history as a murderer…or I could not. I lowered the gun again. Frank was furious, called me a fucking traitor, a wimp, a fucking pussy for doing it to him. It was painful and I know he'll never forgive me for it.

Frank's never really seen things my way. But I know Frank. Everything he does is for his own family—his wife Lynn, daughter Anna, everything, even for our folks. Me… I want my baby to grow up with morals, with good morals. Dad taught us that confessing your problems with those you love, it makes things easier because you're not alone, and you're not fight against people who want to find out.

So now…I have a confession to make though.

 _ **Det. : What is it?**_

Me and my bro, what we did was bad, I know that. Even so, we wouldn't have agreed to do so were it not for the circumstances we were both in. That in my opinion was what made us attractive to guys like Carmine Falcone. He came to Frank about a month ago, asked him to pull this heist.

 _ **Det. : Why?**_

…He wants the Russians off his turf. It was meant to be a ruse. The robbery, the explosion…we were meant to be a successful distraction. They said it was all good, that I wouldn't get in trouble…that he had people inside the…

 _ **Det. : (Sigh) That's unfortunate, Mr Kane, very unfortunate. (Locks door, covers camera, turns off the microphone)**_

 _ **BANG!...BANG!…**_


	4. Cat and Mouse

— **LEGEND OF THE BATMAN—**

* * *

 _ **CAT AND MOUSE**_

* * *

When night falls upon the city, Gotham wakes, springing loudest, unpredictably loud. Not many places are left to the quiet and restful of its citizens. Night was when life returned to Gotham's soul. The markets buzzed with movement, stores opened, theatres in full play and work was plenty, especially in the Red Light Districts that ever really came out under the silver moon.

In the more, richer parts of town however, it came out in another way…a more private way. There was a party at Bruce Wayne's lavish penthouse in the city. Though he had a perfectly beautiful and spacious manor outside the city limits, but often he would deny the public eye viewership of the old mausoleum.

More than a hundred quests were in attendance, from successful businessmen to state senators. From the balcony he watches them interact. Not simply for his amusement but more an interest in their behaviour.

Soon he got bored and turned around to look through the massive plane over his peaceful home. Soon he would be dragged off onto the middle of the ballroom by a band of beautiful young women.

They would take turns dancing with him, laugh at his jokes or what they assumed were jokes. Soon they'll relegate tales from their own lives and struggles, which he found as interesting as the bible. They seemed like good girls the lot of them…but he knew what they wanted, their ambitions were text-book.

When Gotham's favourite son finally got free of the groping hands that sought him, he made his way to the wine cabinet past the gallery. In that dark room rarely visited, were an assortment of old and new artworks and artefacts.

He'd seen many of these, a white kabuki mask from Japan, Egyptian and Persian Death masks and ancient Macedonian weapons, items of intrinsic value. Yet, they were of no real value to him. These were just things he'd bought to keep the façade going.

Bruce stopped short however when he came face to face with an intruder, rummaging through his safe. Slender, female, about three or four inches shorter than he was, yet what he found her in was far more peculiar. A jet black form-fitting cat-suit and boots, where she then turned around, meeting his gaze for only a moment had revealed to him a mask with pointed ears, a little more opened than that of the Batman's.

This woman, smiled coyly at him with dark crimson lips. She then raised a small sack of what he believed were the contents of his safe. He moved to swiftly stop her but she was quicker than he anticipated, throwing what seemed to be knives from her fingers, like claws.

With his own quick reflexes, he dodged most of them, but one managed to pin his sleeves to the wall behind. After struggling to free himself, he found her pressed against his chest. From here he could see her better though still hiding behind yellow lensed goggles. She looked like a cat. Leaning in, she lightly grazed her lips upon his, teasingly before retreating back where she saw fit to torment him with his own custom made watch she had just taken.

He watched her take one final souvenir from his vault. It was his mother's pearl necklace that she placed in the sack. He watched as she mockingly bowed and disappeared out of an open window.

Was he going to let that be it?

No. Bruce broke free and went into his wine cabin where he opened a secret compartment behind a shelf of _Domaine de la Romane-Corti La Tache_ wine bottles. There now stood the armour that protected his daylight shadow—his bodyguard.

Meanwhile, on the rooftops of Gotham City's tallest and luxurious buildings, the cat burglar swished from building to building, nothing slowed her down. She had on a small back pack that was big enough to carry the items she'd stolen yet small and held close enough to her body that she was not hindered.

Soon however, she came to a stop. A figure now stood in her way—a figure, draped in a black cape, horns atop his head and bright white eyes. At first she was frightened…more surprised at his appearance, then a playfully devious smile returned to her face and before the Batman could take another step, she flung herself off the building.

The Batman ran to the edge where he saw the cat burglar free falling. He soon launched down to get her.

There they were, swooping down like balls, allowing gravity to dictate their…the Cat produced a whip from her back pack and was able to hook it onto a gargoyle on the opposite building. She would be safe. As for the Batman—his cape had acted like a parachute, slowing his descent and a grappling gun, shot above sent him flying straight to the audacious cat-woman.

She started climbing the apartment building, she was fast, very fast; skipping a few floors here and there had cut down time and created some distance between the two.

Now back on a roof, their chase resumed as soon as she had her bearings, she ran. Again, she leapt between buildings, seamlessly, like it was reflex that she knew she'd make it and it didn't slow her down even for a second.

The Batman followed closely behind her, matching her in the chase, allowing little to get in the way they were both quite agile and skilful in evading obstacles.

About ten more blocks, they had begun ascending onto higher rooftops. About to reach her end, she angel-dived off the edge once more, this time she landed on an over-pass walkway across the busy traffic. Once Batman caught up to her, she blew him a kiss, another tease as she then sprang off again, onto a passing double-decker tour bus.

On the bus, the Cat found herself in the company of some foreigners who began snapping pictures of her. She even posed for some of them. _One could never look too good in a photo that stays forever_ , she thought.

Far sooner than she had anticipated however, the Batman landed on the opposite side of the bus. To her own dismay, annoyance and a pang of jealousy, the more tourists started taking his picture instead, exploding in flashes of light larger than they had for her.

The Batman took a few steps towards her, she moved, jumping off the bus and onto a truck that had just turned left. But the Batman was already in pursuit, opting to take the top of the buildings instead of just tailing behind her again.

The truck got to a bridge, her opportunity to escape was coming up while his to catch her was slipping. The Batman launched himself at her. The Cat saw this and again leapt off the truck, now travelling on a bridge over the railroad. She landed with a roll on the ten-thirty train to Star City.

The man in black set down on top of the carriage before hers. They both then decided not to continue the chase. No, the Cat decided she wanted a little tiff.

They met with an open barrage of punches and kicks that showed she was not an amateur in hand to hand combat. The Batman noticed her skills in jiu-jitsu, most intriguing. While she was heavily skilled, the Bat was far from helpless but found he was more on the receiving end of their fight, blocking back her deceptively powerful strikes. Yet, her asset was not in her strength but her speed and agile movements, even with the train moving speedily on the tracks.

Her form-fitting attire gave her somewhat of an edge against him. In honesty, he could swear he saw her smirking as they fought and he slowly began to realise he was finding her quite interesting. It would be his undoing as he drew her closer, trying to incapacitate her and she managed to turn the tide, again only grazing her opponent's lips, catching him off guard. She then kicked off of his chest with both feet.

Staggering back a pace, Batman regained his footing fairly quick. It was then when he saw the tunnel up ahead. He threw a batarang attached to a metallic cord and snaked it around the cat thief's ankle. He pulled her down off her feet and dove don himself just as they passed through the dark cavernous tunnel.

Once they emerged on the other side, the Batman looked up, shocked to find his device now trapped on the train's gears instead of an ankle. Next thing he knew he was kicked across the face from the left. The Cat-thief leapt from the carriage and onto solid ground once again.

And also, again, Batman was hot on her trail.

They were now on someone's property—a large mansion somewhere in Upper-Eastside Gotham. He chased through a series of greenhouses, making sure not to lose her escaping silhouette amongst the dim light.

Batman sees the front door only slightly ajar as the Cat's shadow shrinks through it. But, when he follows, he finds himself surrounded by a group of five surprised gangsters. With knives, crowbars and knuckle-busters, a fight quickly ensues but only briefly as he soon dispatched them…with relative ease. They were big and tough, definitely looked like Maroni's men, valued strength and size than anything else.

He hears a clap coming from ahead. On the mansion's second level roof, leaning against the gargoyle that protected the eastern face of the house, the Cat-woman eyed him, both quite impressed and almost certainly piqued. She grinned at him, like a Cheshire cat, mischievous and unpredictable. She then took a playful, taunting bow and disappeared yet again.

But the Batman was not giving up that easily. He ran around the manor, about halfway to the front, grappled his way to the top, disturbing a couple of bats nesting below the statue monsters.

He could see her, a small, dark figure running toward the closed gates. He jumped, as high as he could and then let himself glide over the fence where he intercepted the woman who bumped face first into his armoured chest. As she looked up she saw bats flying around him like they worshipped him or something.

To many, this image alone was enough to frighten them away… But the Catwoman merely stood up and they looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Each still had their masks on so she removed her goggles, revealing a pair of emerald irises. But the Batman did not move. She reached up to try the same and remove his cowl, but he snatcher her hands before she could.

His glare began to intensify. Accepting defeat, knowing full well what the Batman wanted, she reached into her back pack and retrieved the sack full of Bruce Wayne's priceless trinkets…and more than seventy grands worth of hard cash. She handed him the bag and he did take it, but looked like he was still waiting for something… She sighed and from a hidden pocket on her bag, she handed him a necklace of white pearls.

Still looking sternly, he made to walk away but was held back by the Cat who tip-toed, intent on kissing his lips. This time, it was he who denied her and pushed her away. Slightly hurt she lowered her head… only to have it raised again where the Batman finally locked their lips together.

Passionately they kissed, for a few moments before they broke apart, out of breath, but satisfied nonetheless.

Their moment of bliss was cut short however, as police sirens were heard growing louder. For the cat burglar, she did not want the feds to corner her new friend and pushed him away to try and tell him he needed to escape. He held her closer still, a smile appearing on his veiled face as he placed something in her hands. One last kiss and then he took the sack of stolen goods and vanished into the night.

She was beaming now, and felt rather stupid, blushing like a school girl receiving her first kiss. But then as she moved to save herself from the upcoming police, she found her left hand bound to the bars of the gate. The Batman had cuffed her. She cursed to herself for her stupidity and as the cars appeared from a glaring blur of headlights, she gritted her teeth as she had a glimpse of the Batman on a nearby roof, running away from the scene. That was when she remembered whatever it was the Batman gave to her.

At first she had hoped he had allowed her to keep the necklace…but now she saw he had given the key to her own cuffs.

As she looked at the key she found herself now perfectly surrounded by uniformed servicemen. She gave them a chaste smile and hid the key in her suit and allowed them to arrest her.

For the Batman—he returned to his own prison, high atop the cityscape of Gotham's wealthy one percenters. A different suit, a different mask, but one that people knew only as Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy. He stared longingly out of the large sky screen. He was saddened even more as he saw the police vehicles speeding across below him.

The Catwoman was in one of those cars, he presumed.

Soon he felt a tugging on his arm, a beautiful young woman with dark raven hair, enticing green eyes and full ruby lips, sought his attention on the dancefloor. She said her name was Selina Kyle and even promised him a rather eventful evening in her presence. Reluctantly, the wealthy young bachelor allowed himself the distraction, giving the window one last look before embracing to an extent his evening of " _rich-boy shenanigans_ " as Alfred calls it.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **If you haven't already guessed, this chapter was heavily inspired by that Batman New Adventures segment called '** _ **Chase Me'**_ **, which featured Catwoman. The muted sounds with only that jazzy saxophone music playing…they don't make DC animation like that anymore, which is a pity. I'd like to see them explore Superman and Wonder Woman's romance in an artistic short film like this—they don't give this pairing enough love I think. Even with Batman and Catwoman, I feel they haven't explored that enough if at all these past few animated films.**

 **That's actually why I quite liked The Dark Knight Rises. The romance of Batman and Catwoman actually had a conclusion with that last scene of a café in Florence. Really, that's all one needs.**

 **Also, guys, I'm having a lot of blanks with my Wonder Woman fic. I once had a clear vision for her but now it's become blurred. I have a lot of action sequences and even iconic ones but nothing to tie them together into a functioning narrative. I guess I left it off for too long. I could really use some help here, grazie.**


	5. What Matters

_**Legend of the Batman**_

* * *

— **WHAT MATTERS—**

* * *

The police were created to enforce law. We don't utter the words Serve and Protect for nothing…or maybe they do here—Gotham City.

I don't always like the GCPD but my office gives me a great view of the city. Sometimes I look outside on long and quiet days. I see a bird perched on the railing of the fire escape, the streets between 4th and Bench Avenue. I see the harbour in the distance, Station Bridge the stretched over the bay was usually packed at this time of day, no way around it without getting caught in even heavier traffic. The only other option lead straight to the slums, then to the Narrows and no one wants to go there.

Beyond the harbour, the sun begins to rise. Not even seven yet and I'm already feeling sluggish.

It takes every ounce of strength in my body to turn away from the window. But I've got work to do. I turn on the computer. It takes a lot longer than it usually does to boot up, but I don't mind. I just stop and gaze. Within the black emptiness of my monitor, I see my reflection. I was beginning to grow a moustache, Barbara says I should let it grow but maybe shave off a beard…I don't know…I kinda look like my old man.

But apart from that, I am treated to seeing a couple of bruises around my face. A cut lip, a black eye and swollen on the right side. Why?

I asked myself that a dozen times on my way to the hospital. Apparently I had a few broken bones, a close fracture on my firing arm and a few of my ribs. Maybe it was punishment, for the shit I've done overseas—for staring at innocents and pulling the trigger.

But of course, I knew exactly why.

I hated those days when I'm on patrol with Arnold Flass while Bullock gets Uptown. That night though…

'Gordon!' He says to me, ripping me from my thoughts. 'How about you keep your eyes on the road eh?'

He directs me through Cheap-side, we've been through here maybe thirty times and our route usually takes us through Portside Boulevard and the Eastern Docks. Truth be told, I really wanted a closer look at the Russian cache and why Loeb tried so hard to cover it up.

'Wait, Jimmy, stop the car,' Flass jerks my shoulder a little too roughly, but I stop and watch as he hops out.

A young man, African American, short, probably High School age along with a couple of Caucasian boys around a dimly lit bin for warmth. They seemed innocent enough. But would that have mattered?

It was a little muffly I admit, but it wasn't hard to hear Flass from the car. 'Hello, Clayton,' he starts, addressing the African American. 'Your mom know where you been tonight?'

The boys backed away, clearly terrified. 'Hey, Flass, dude not tonight, please.'

Arnold chuckled. 'Did you just call me " _Flass_ "?'

Clayton stuttered an apology, rapidly correcting himself by saying 'I…I mean…O...O…Officer.'

Again, Flass laughed, grabbing the boy by the jacket and pinning him against the wall. My own hands tighten around the wheel. I want to go out there and put a stop to this before it escalates. Bullock's number one lesson: Always have a fellow officer's back. We're all brothers-in-arm.

'You be tellen your mom that I'll be paying her a visit tomorrow night,' says Flass, not even bothered whispering it. 'Would you like that, seeing your dirty slut of a mom take my jizz—?'

Clayton begins to struggle free, anger was building up, I could tell…he wanted to punch Flass straight in the jaw and believe me, I'd love nothing more, but I also knew what assaulting a police officer means, so I step out of the car and head towards them. Intentions as always, were to calm the situation. I've done it a hundred times now.

Suddenly one of Clayton's friends tries to pull the 6'4'' jock off of him, in response, Flass pulls out a gun, pointing it at the kid, warning them off a little.

'Stand down, Flass!' I reach for my own gun readily.

The crooked cop points the gun now against Clayton's head. 'Get back in the car, Jimmy.' Fuck was I gonna listen. 'Did you hear me Gordon…back off.'

'I will, once you drop the fucking gun, Flass, and let the kid go.'

Still looking at Clayton, Flass grinned. 'Okay…fine.' He opens his palms and let the boy drop. He turns to me, shrugs and surprisingly the situation stabilises. I did hear his pager beep before his sudden change. I was suspicious of course. But that would have to wait.

That was only one instance.

Two days later, Hancock brags about stopping an armed gunman. His cam however, showed him Taser a homeless black man around three times and all while the man cooperated completely, raised his hands over his head, chest on the concrete path.

Next day, Benson forces a man out of his car. He had a blood alcohol of five but still earned the younger Benson's fist to the face, humiliation in front of the family also in the car. Benson claims the man wasn't cooperating. My two cents: sure, the guy wasn't complying at first, not lowering his window to talk until his daughter urges him to. But once he did, everything Benson ordered, the guy was compliant.

Loeb then tells the press that Benson and Hancock's cameras were dislodged and broken in the scuffle, although, I did manage to get Hancock on probation.

When I was called in to Internal Affairs for interrogation, I told the District Attorney Harvey Dent, everything. The next day I find out the kid, Clayton was in an accident I told Dent my suspicions.

Heck, I even gave the precinct a few minutes lecture on ethics, my own opinions on how to get people's respect the proper way, not through bribes but through efficiency in our jobs.

Yesterday, March 11th, I was heading to work. My car in the lot, I was already weary, craving the comforts of home, in Barbara's arms, I was not looking forward to the precinct. I only managed to get my key into the lock when a gang of four, maybe six men in balaclavas surrounded me.

'Heading off to work, Officer?' one of them had said, tapping a metal baseball bat. 'I think you're going to be late tonight. In fact…I think you might not make the whole night.'

As one would expect from such approaches…they charged at me.

A very important thing to note about me is that I'm not an incompetent man. I fought in a fucking war over at Afghanistan, Syria and Bialya. I know how to handle myself fine. Perhaps it's the glasses?

I dodged every one of them and their strikes without moving my feet from their positions. Each one of them had a hand held weapon of one kind or another; bats, crowbars, even a police baton which was a dead giveaway. I blocked one guy's crowbar that was directed at my head, then kicked him in the stomach and snatched his weapon away, throwing it as far from them as possible.

Their attacks were quick, but predictable. I managed to disarm about four of them already, and they never laid a single finger on me.

'So this is how you guys treat people?!' I thought I was victorious, I had gotten all five of them—

The guy with the wooden bat blindsided me, knocking me to the ground and my glasses from my vision. I groaned in pain as his bat collided with the left side of my ribs. 'Perhaps next time you oughta mind your own stinken business then,' he grunted and began punctuating every sentence with a blow upon my body. 'If not for your own sake…then think…about…your wife…your beautiful…very pregnant wife.'

With that they all began joining in. I lost consciousness about fifteen minutes in, when I heard the screeching of tires, a car was coming in, they bolted away.

Next thing I know, a man came to my side. I couldn't see his face but I have to say, I was grateful when he came because after the dark took me, I woke up in a hospital bed, a little drowsy but perfectly fine with my wife sitting beside me, holding my hand.

Yes, Barbara had said that a man found me and took both of us to Gotham General. All that reception had to say was that this man paid for everything. He must have been rich. Either way, I think I owe him my life.

Regardless, after a day at Gotham General and another few more at home, I was back at work. I was pissed sure, on my way to my desk I pass by Lewinski, Corrigan and DeCarlo, some of them looked at me with stern disgust, the other, a little mischievous grin—DeCarlo was a fucking prick.

As I fill in my paperwork, I could hear Flass in the lounge, recounting some sort of story or other to a circle of female officers. Me—I try to ignore as much as I possibly can though Bullock advises me against it. 'You need to know where everything is, what everyone's doing and what the word going around is. That's how you survive here, Rookie.'

So now, I sat at my desk, looking at a bruised and damaged self, I was pissed. Flass jokes about the state I'm in, attributing it to an intercourse accident. They all laugh at my expense, but what pisses me off is that I know it was Flass, hell he tells me up front about it but his threat still stands. My wife is vulnerable.

Suddenly, Bullock came charging by, grabbing his coat from his seat. 'Get up, Gordon, we got a hostage situation down town!'

Children were being held at gun point in a rundown apartment in the older part of the city. The lone gunman was a former inmate at Arkham Asylum, released only a week ago, said he was cured…apparently not.

'Go find your own war, Branden,' I said as I passed by the Lead SWAT officer. He had a tendency for violence and destruction. He and his team once stopped a riot at the park in Gotham Central—didn't even leave the statues standing.

'You don't got any authority, Gordon,' he struck. 'This is my gig so fuck off.'

I was about to refute him but as usual, Bullock stepped in and made sure I didn't do anything stupid. So I watched as Branden's men stormed the apartment with their assault rifles. They were half blind. Howard Branden relies on brute force as always. The direct approach is his only tactic, to go in heavy loaded and guns blazing the scene. This was far too delicate to leave to chance.

The man was an inmate of a fucking lunatic asylum. The slightest change in his little controlled world could lead him spiralling into frenzy and get the kids killed in the process.

After the first gunshot, I bolted into the apartment.

'Back off…I said back off!' I hear the gunman overhead. 'I'll kill them!'

As I climb the stairs, I see bits of equipment discarded on the steps. Once I got to the third floor, I came across several of Branden's men, knocked unconscious on the floor. But I didn't see Branden anywhere. I rushed off as fast as I could and when I got to the fifth level, in apartment 15, I found Branden pointing his rifle at a dishevelled man pointing a gun directly at a little ten year-old girl.

'Don't come any closer, believe me I'll do it!'

Howard looked him straight in the eye...and smiled. 'I believe you.'

He was about to pull the trigger, I had to react the only way I knew how. 'Wait!'

'Shit, Gordon, what the fuck!'

When the man trained his gun on me, I put my hands up. Being cautious I stepped towards him. 'Please, put the gun down, sir. I just want to talk.'

The man was flinching. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days, maybe weeks—the look of derangement in his eyes, bloodshot, twitching. 'I've had enough of it!'

'Just shoot him, Gordon!'

'Branden shut the fuck up!' I didn't break eye contact with the gunman for even a second. 'Look, sir…ah…Mr…'

'Blume,' he said timidly. 'Albert…Albert Blume.'

'Well, Mr Blume. Why don't we put the gun down and let these children out safe and sound, okay—'

Then he burst out, 'No!' I flinched, only slightly, but I was willing to give this guy the benefit of the doubt. 'I can't. Don't you understand? I need to protect them!'

He started to hold the gun now even closer to the girl's head, nearly brushing her hair like a combe. 'That's okay,' I said, undermining my urging tone. 'What are you protecting them from?'

His eyes started to enlarge with terror. He looked behind him out the window. 'You don't see it?' He drew the girl closer as he himself backed away toward the other children who braced together tighter in fear. 'There's a gigantic scarecrow outside,' he finally said in a quivering squeak. 'He wants the children, he wants to eat the children…I can't let him take them.'

Again, I tried to appeal to the man, offering my own gun to him in surrender, a white flag. I tell him that I won't let anything happen to any of them. It takes a minute but he soon relents, putting down his own gun but then, looking backn at the window he started to jerk and scream out in pure horror. I myself did not see anything that would warrant it.

As soon as he was clear of the guns though, Branden jumped on the man while I ran to the kids. They all came hugging me, it was great. I took them outside first, met by an army of paramedics sitting ready to receive them.

But for Blume, as they take him out, or at least attempt to, he squirms in the hands of the rough SWAT men, pulling at him as he struggles. 'Please, don't take me outside!' he shouts, 'Not outside!' He then looks at me, pleadingly and I found myself flooded with both sympathy and guilt. 'Please, I can't go outside, the scarecrow will kill me!'

That was when he did the unexpected. Somehow he took hold of SWAT member Weise's Beretta. I tried to stop him while telling people to take shelter but it was just…it was…I was too late.

Blume shot himself in front of a live audience. I don't know what it is but something compels me to give blame for his death. He pulled the trigger but someone pushed. Was it the cops, that handled him with no little of disrespect and cruelty, Branden with his hot headed vices, the guys at Arkham who failed to cure him, or was it me, a guy who wasn't strong or fast enough to stop his madness; his madness, not him.

I often find they bug me to no end, these questions I ask myself. A lot of cops do, guilt riding their shoulders. Bullock tells me that I need to get over it, let it go but I don't want to, I can't want to. It's because I'm afraid that when I let it go, I'll look to Arnold Flass and see a mirror reflection staring back at me. When a cop learns to let that guilt go, then there's no line of limitation to what they might find themselves doing. We have power to enforce the law, it was meant to be a duty, not a right, but with our fallacies, we corrupt it—our purpose. We always seem to find ways to corrupt things.

Maybe it really is a punishment for me. I can't see it any other way.

The following week I got a new office. The public seemed to like me now and I gave the GCPD some good press, Loeb was rolling around in all that positive attention. He opened up a new task force for me and even named me Lieutenant and head of that task force. Major Crimes was what they were calling it but I knew what it really was, we were Batman hunters, and I know what this was for me—a wall between me and Loeb's inner circle. I won't be any trouble for them, well at least for now.

So I go into my office, its night, maybe nine PM or something. There were stacks of files on my desk that I had to look through. It was on Blume's case and other similar to him. No one claimed him. He had no known associates other than his doctors at Arkham Asylum, no family members left alive, no one to give him a proper funeral. So we cremated his remains.

Autopsy said they found nothing in his systems other than some sort of psychedelic drug. They did no further study and boiled his condition down to overdose added with his schizophrenia.

I begin my work when…the lights turn off. I move but then find myself frozen as I feel a familiar chill on the back of my neck—barrel of a pistol. A low voice comes from behind me, tells me not to move.

'You're a good cop, Gordon,' the voice said, grumbling deeply, clearly it was a mechanical voice alteration device, 'one of the few.'

There was no sound that followed. Nothing but the cool air and something colder, more metallic pressed against the back of my head. 'What…what do you want?'

There was some movement, some ruffling of paper. He showed me a folder labelled ARKHAM and removed the weapon for me to flip through those files. Photos of Flass and Commissioner Loeb among Falcone's men at the docks, some of them showed GCPD working with Falcone underneath Hermes Shipping, looking rather suspicious as they hauled large containers of white powder into a truck.

The Batman even highlighted the licence plates so I knew they were on record, but knowing the people I work with, they won't say a thing. But what did he want?

'Falcone won terf from the Russians, Dimitrov is missing but none of his assets were recovered. The Roman now has the Western Waterfront but valuable shipment comes from the Eastern Docks.' I then ask him why that was of interest to him, it certainly was to me. 'Falcone could have reported the drugs and taken the West docks at a lower cost, yet now he doesn't, takes the drugs but doesn't sell his stash.

He then takes directs my gaze to a photo of the trucks heading towards the Narrows, Flass in identifiable in them. 'Open up an inquiry to Arkham Asylum.'

'Even if I did, what would that get us?' I reason with the mysterious voice behind me. 'We have leverage on cops, no one's going to prosecute, not without leverage on Judge Fadden for corruption and not without a DA brave enough to see to prosecution.'

Again, there was silence, leaving me quite on the edge of my seat. What was he going to do, shoot me?

'There's a new District Attorney working Internal Affairs. Look him up, tell him what I told you…' and with that…I no longer felt the cold of metal against my skin. I turned around and found he had exited through the window.

Being the good cop that I was, I ran in pursuit of this Bat Vigilante. Bullock and Cage joined me up on the roof. We secured the area but found nothing, but there upon the next building, high above us, where we could see stone demons, I could see the faintest movement of a cape blowing in the wind.

* * *

 **-=BATMAN=-**


	6. To Disappear

_**Legend of the Batman**_

* * *

 **TO DISAPPEAR**

* * *

I remember it like it well…I remember it all. That is my curse. I remember the blinding flash of the gun and the painful sound of flesh as the bullet ripped through my father's stomach. I remembered his face as the shock passed by at the quick realisation of his own mortality. He looks to my mother.

Even as I stare down at their coffins, hovering over their dens, I see the man towering over us. I see him take aim on my mother as she pleads for my life.

As autumn leaves fell upon their caskets I hear Alfred whisper a prayer. I guessed he expected me to join in, but I had no room inside for faith. I was angry. I held a small crucifix pendant my mother had given me, hidden in his my hands and as I watched them lower my mother and father…it bent.

Though I was surrounded that day, by family friends, my parent's friends, I found myself isolated and alone. Their stares, they think they go unnoticed. Soon I begin to crave isolation. To vanish, disappear from sight, then maybe this pain would too.

I wanted just to scream out loud at them, for daring to show their faces now. Among them I could see several of Wayne Enterprise's employees, executives. I saw Lucius Fox, I saw his face, the genuine sadness. He said nothing to me but smiled. Where were they when the gunman fired?

I tried to smile back, even to force a fake one, and get everyone off my back. How could I smile, when the last memory I have of joy and laughter came from them. Leaving the theatre and talking excitedly to them about my favourite parts of the movie. I remember my father make a joke about masked vigilantes that he would have had you believe was witty and my mother rolling her eyes yet still with her own ruby lips curled in a wide smile.

A smile, of joy and happiness—as I look at my hands, the bent cross lying dead in my palm, I ponder, what right do I have to be happy?

We walked into an alleyway, the parking lot lay on the other side. Then out of the mist, a figure, a man comes up and produces a gun from his coat. He points it at my mother and demands money, jewellery. Father tells him to calm down. I get behind him…fearful.

But when he point the gun at my mom, dad moves quickly. He fires, the man with the gun—right into my father's chest.

I watch him as he falls.

Then, I look to my mother as she pleads, not for her own life but to spare mine. He grabs her by her pearl necklace, one my dad had just bought for her—an anniversary gift. The man rips them off of her neck causing her to jerk forward. He pushes her off of him and then…he fires. The bullet goes right through her head, between her brows.

And what do I do? I watched. I lay there, on my knees as the man leaves me there with their bodies. Streams of blood meet each other before me. I cry…I roar…I scream for help…

In the night I visited those memories as often as I dream…but not by choice.

'Are you alright?' I was reeled back from the abyss by the sight of the grand Eiffel Tower, the warm voice of a friend…a colleague…an acquaintance. Still, I didn't feel like speaking much, I just flexed my neck to tell him I was ready. The blonde shrugs off my attitude and continues to drink the coffee he ordered for us at the _Café le Castel_. 'Anyway, I have that contact you asked for.' He hands me a piece of paper with both a ten digit phone number and address. 'His name is Henri Ducard, he's a professor of criminology and deduction.'

I said nothing, just nodded. When my friend inquired of my interest in this professor, I had no answer—at least none I would ever divulge. He was the best in his field, a modern Sherlock Holmes, a veteran detective in the French Police nationale.

There were things this Ducard would teach me.

My friend takes me to the university he teaches, there to do a lecture on the science of deduction and the building and solidification of memory. He was a rather well built man for his age, reaching sixty-two next Friday by the not yet open birthday cards on his desk. He wore a tweed jacket over a grey turtle-neck sweater that hid slightly his more masculine body.

' _Salut, Monsieur Ducard_ ,' I approached him after the lecture. ' _Mon nom est Bruce Wayne_ —'

'I know who you are, Mr Wayne,' he replied swiftly as he packed his bag of all of his notes. 'I saw you when you and Aaron walked in, brilliant young lad though a tad _trop ambitieuses_.' He offered his hand to me to which I accepted courteously.

'I have to agree to that, monsieur,' I say. 'As we speak he's off to our Headmaster, subtly reproaching her that he is best suited for her _préparatoire aux grandes écoles_.'

Ducard chuckles with restraint at my remark. 'I remember seeing your father when he visited _École Normale Superieure_ , a good and hardworking man. I see you are much becoming a splitting image of him. I see a bit of your mother too,' I smile at this highest form of flattery and thank him. 'So what can I do for you, Monsieur Wayne?'

'I've read your books, your reports when you were still serving. You could pick up on anyone and find anything with but a couple of glances here and there. I know you're good at finding things…I want to know how to hide from you.'

 **-=o=-**

As a father lies dying by his eleven year-old son, he looks to his wife, already still and lifeless. Tears still fresh, trickling her smooth cheeks. He wants to follow her, tears escaping his eyes. He looks up to his son who also has tears, but also confusion and fear. He knows what will follow. Anger and rage are very potent and blinding elements.

He tells him with his last and dying breath… 'Bruce, don't be afraid…'


	7. Smoke

**Legend of the Batman**

* * *

—SMOKE—

* * *

FADE IN:

EXT. GOTHAM MEMORIAL – DAY

A soft and quiet morning, the auburn sun rising over the cityscape in the distance, people walking their dogs and staying in shape themselves. Tinge of fog in the grass surrounding the piazza.

CUT TO:

EXT. CITY HALL – DAY

FALCONE sits upon a bench looking at the pigeons assembling before him. A subtle smile on his face.

Another man enters, taking a seat beside the Italian – a Roman, MARONI then begins to feed shredded bread to the birds. A few seconds of silence passes.

FALCONE

Mi piaceva moltissimo uccelli quando ero un bambino, ancora.

(I used to really like birds when I was a child, still do.)

They are great survivors. (English)

MARONI

Ho un po 'come I pipistrelle, vecchio amico.

(I rather like bats, old friend.)

FALCONE

Parlando di che.

(Speaking of which.)

You got a Bat doing your dirty job now?

MARONI

(Chuckles)

I don't know what you're talking about, amico. I have my own problems with the cazzo. This Bat is becoming a real problem, for everyone.

FALCONE

(GROANS)

Yes I heard about the unfortunate confiscation of your merchandise.

MARONI

Eight million bucks worth of weapons, twelve men in hospital under intensive care and two dead so none of them can say a thing.

(Annoyed Chuckle)

That's fucking six weeks down the drain. Porca miseria!

And yourself? I hear you yourself had seen this creature.

FALCONE

It's no creature, signore. Just some cazzo in a costume. I've got my hands full. I don't need another fucking prick to have to worry about.

MARONI

(Chuckles)

Another? You talkin 'bout that new guy at GCPD? He will upset the system, of that I am sure. And we were getting along so well (Sarcastic).

(Sniggers)

I don't believe that we have ever had an alliance since the Russians but I fear it will have to.

Falcone stares at the birds.

FALCONE

Loeb has Gordon in the mines. We have leverage. No, the real problem is the Bat, you're right. I don't know what drives him but he is costing us much. He is upsetting the order of things here and needs to be reminded.

MARONI

Capito.

The two stare out in silence at the rising sun. Falcone fiddles with his wedding ring.

MARONI

Ever wonder what would have happened had we taken Paul's advice, Gotham and Star City.

FALCONE

It was a suggestion, Salvatore, not an order.

Sal stands up.

FALCONE

I think my life would have been rather dull if you'd left for Star City. Say what you like about the pain we've inflicted on each other, amico – but you need me, and I you. I'll speak with Gill, get rid of the novizio. Arrivederci, mio amico.

With that Falcone nods to his countryman and walks away to the right away from City Hall.

CUT TO:

INT. GCPD MAIN OFFICE – DAY

A rough sketch of a bat creature pinned to a wall. JIM GORDON stares at it for a few seconds then to a photo of him and his wife at Washington D.C.

On his desk is a new portfolio titled Major Crimes Unit/Vigilante Task Force. He takes it and walks to –

BOARDROOM

A room filled with police officers (All new comers) waiting around and talking to each other. A whiteboard at the front with MAJOR CRIMES UNIT written on it, Gordon stands on the left, another woman stands on the right.

GORDON

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Settle down, guys.

They all become quiet and attentive.

GORDON

Alright, welcome to the MCU, you've been chosen because your specialties are tailored for specific detective work. I am Lieutenant James Gordon and this here is Detective Sarah Essen.

Gordon gestures to the woman on the left.

GORDON (CONT'D)

Now you might be thinking that this whole situation is just a ruse because no one gives a shit about you and the truth is...you maybe right. But make no mistake that this doesn't give you permission to slack off. We're going after the night time vigilante known as the Batman.

Other cops like DE CARLO, LEWINSKI, CARRIGAN and BULLOCK circle the room to look in.

FLASS is seated in the centre of the room, looking bruised, left arm in a cast, battered and needing crutches.

A couple of sniggers from the crowd.

FLASS

Hay, back off this aint funny.

GORDON

Alright, folks, calm down and let him talk, he's a little sensitive at the moment.

FLASS

Fuck off Gordon. Anyway, there I was at the Eastern Docks –

FLASHBACK TO:

EXT. WAREHOUSE AT DOCKS – NIGHT

Flass guards some of Falcone's men as they load a truck with newly stolen LexCorp crates. When they get the last of the crates, the lead gangster hands Flass a package of cash.

FLASS (V.O.) (CONT'D)

I had gotten an anonymous tip of some arms and ammunitions smuggling. Possibly the Russians trying to make a comeback after Hermes. I was in the process of single-handedly apprehending the felons when it came out of the night sky.

The BATMAN jumps down from the rooftop of the warehouse and landed on a car.

GORDON (V.O.) (CONT'D)

Wings thirty feet across. One of the felons I had not yet disarmed produced a gun and opened fire.

The gangster that handed Flass the cash takes out a gun and shoots at the Batman but he dodges it.

FLASS (V.O.) (CONT'D)

The bullets passed through him like smoke. Something grew from his hands...little dark things...paralysed everyone...except me.

Batman produces three Bat shurikens in both hands and throws them at the gangsters.

BACK TO PRESENT:

Flass looks at the crowd with fear in his eyes.

FLASS

It singled me out.

The room starts to erupt in laughter again.

FLASS

I'm telling you, it isn't human!

GORDON

Alright guys, I want quiet.

The room slows to a halt.

Outside, Bullock has a slight grin as he watches.

GORDON

Okay, okay, listen up. Our Bat-vigilante has committed over seventy assaults in the past five to eight weeks. Now during this time we've uncovered patterns.

ESSEN

He operates between the hours of midnight and four AM. Concentrating his efforts in the outer rim but methodically making his way to the Narrows.

GORDON

This Batman is working his way up the crime ladder: from junkie to pusher, to supplier. No one appears safe, not even cops.

CUT TO:

EXT. BOARDROOM

They all leave the room with Gordon and Essen left behind to pack up.

ESSEN

You're not going to go out for coffee. You don't take a break makes the rest of us look bad.

GORDON

Sarah, I'm not exactly in good terms with everyone else. Why should I bother now?

ESSEN

Fair enough. Wait, so where are you going?

GORDON

(Sighs)

What can you tell me about Harvey Dent?

ESSEN

What that young District Attorney from New York? He's rather...well actually he's just like you from what I've heard and seen. Ever since Internal Affairs...well let's just say even I'm self-cautious around the guy. Why?

GORDON

Does he look like the sort that knows how to take down twenty armed men at the same time?

ESSEN

You think he's a suspect? Well until I've seen the Bat up close, jury's out on that one.

FADE TO:

EXT. GOTHAM UNIVERSITY – DAY

Amongst the buzzing of busy students and faculty staff, Howard Branden's son LEO BRANDEN rushes across the foyer to class.

PSYCHOLOGY 101 AUDITORIUM

Leo bursts in, short of breath. His left eye has a slight bruising with a trace of make up to hide it. The class stops to look back at him, his professor, JONATHAN CRANE is at the bottom, in the middle of writing on a blackboard.

CRANE

Ah, Mr Branden nice of you to drop by but I asked you last week not to make it a habit.

LEO

I'm sorry, professor. My alarm's not working.

CRANE

Then perhaps get a watch. A good one tends to last longer.

Leo nods and hurriedly takes a seat. He sighs in relief as he opens his books. All the while, Professor Crane looks on for a couple more seconds, concern playing his face.

Crane begins to write again.

CRANE

So, as we've said, the mind has a very specific power over the...

CUT TO:

After the lecture, as students pack up and make their way out of the concert hall, Crane walks up to Leo who is still seated.

CRANE

Okay, Leo, what's going on? You used to come in five minutes early every day but these past few months I feel you're distracted.

Leo shrugs awkwardly.

Crane points at the jumpy young man's left eye.

CRANE

Does that have something to do with what's going on?

Leo is fearful. He fidgets with his pens as he stores them in his bag.

LEO

Please sir, can we just forget about it.

CRANE

Is it your dad?

Leo remains silent but his eyes start to tear up.

LEO

He's...he's...

CRANE

Its okay, Leo, you can tell me. Maybe I could help?

LEO

No, sir, please. You can't tell anyone. My dad's a cop and if he finds out I've told someone –

CRANE

I get it, Leo. But please, just tell me, maybe I've got some advice? I mean I am a teacher after all.

LEO

My dad's always wanted a son, you know. He had two daughters but he's always wanted a son that he could watch become a world famous Football player. Maybe play for the Seattle Seahawks.

CRANE

And you don't want that?

Leo shakes his head.

LEO

No I don't. But My dad...he's a tough guy, stubborn. He aint the quiet type. He's always like that. He bullies me, my sisters, my mom...I HATE HIM!

There was more silence. Crane looks at him sympathetically.

LEO

I quit the GCU Wildcats. I told him and he was pissed and he hit us, he hit mom...he...

Crane then spots the top of a scar on his shoulder. He gestures this. In fact, he sees blood seeping through the shirt.

LEO

It's nothing.

CRANE

It's your father. I know, Leo. I know what your father is capable of. He used to torture me when I was a kid. You need to tell the proper authorities, a D.A maybe.

LEO

No, just...don't worry, dad goes to the Red Light District, probably gone to fuck around. I think I'm in the clear 'till Saturday.

CRANE

A band aid on a bullet wound, young one. Very well, I will bear your problems, Mr Branden.

LEO

Thank you, sir.

FADE OUT:

...

FADE IN:

EXT. RED LIGHT DISTRICT – NIGHT

A bustling city celebrating its seedy night life and the heavy rain does nothing to dim it. Prostitutes and their pimps, Mob bosses and gangsters, populate the streets.

HOWARD BRANDEN walks out of the shadows with a young boy (13) in tow.

BOY

Please sir, I swear I don't know where Clayton is, Detective Flass drove him out. Last I saw him was seven days ago.

BRANDEN

I don't give a fuck, boy. He owed me money, he sorta put you down as his emergency contact. So I need cash and you'll have to pay it until Clayton comes back.

BOY

But that aint –

Branden throws the boy into a puddle of water in the middle of the road.

BOY

Please, sir. I don't have any –

Branden proceeds to drown the boy in the water. Everyone stops to watch as the boy struggles in his hands. After four minutes the struggling stops. The boy is dead.

BRANDEN

Huh, my daughters could last longer than you.

He looks around him, sees the eyes on his deed.

BRANDEN

Okay, you all know the drill, turn around and go about your business.

He begins to walk down the streets to a dark side of town.

Meanwhile, just behind him, cloaked in a tattered hoodie, a man marches discreetly but naught without purpose.

Branden stops at an apartment. A procurer greets him at the front counter, MARCO is his name.

MARCO

What would it be, the usual?

BRANDEN

No, someone younger today, Marco. I'm feeling like a bit of reliving old memories.

CUT TO:

INT. SINGLE ROOM – NIGHT

Branden sits on a bed, smiling as a girl (13) provocatively swaying her hips as she approaches him. His smile widens.

Outside, peering from the balcony window, a dark figure draped in a black hoodie, rain pouring over him. Smoke surrounds him like vines.

CUT BLACK:

...

 **Author's Note:**

 **I must apologise for such a late entry. Personal issues have been laid against me but I do hope that I can continue my rendition of the DC Universe.**

 **For this chapter, I was trying out a new format. Screenwriting was a small fascination on my part and I wondered and greatly desired to pen a script that might be blacklisted for production, that would be awesome. Frankly though I have only the writing part down, the rest of filmmaking seems lost on me.**

 **Alas I had an interesting time writing this but excuse me for its crudeness.**


	8. Thy Destiny Screeches

_Legend of the Batman_

* * *

 **THY DESTINY SCREECHES**

* * *

 _Crisp bronze autumn leaves fall before me like snow in the winter. There were people around me, nothing but faceless husks, hollow as a dead tree, to me at least. The only people now that mattered were Alfred and maybe Rachel and her family, standing opposite us._

 _My eyes were blurred, flooded by salty tears. But they weren't tears of sadness. I thought they were, a weakening of my soul, but there was something else hidden behind it all. Commissioner Loeb had called it fear, said it was alright to be afraid. But he was wrong. This was not fear. This was rage._

 _When the priest had finished his speech, he had asked me up to give my eulogy._

 _I stood before dark silhouettes in the morning breeze, hoping that it would just blow them all away. I wanted to speak my mind, it had been etching away at my walls of self-control, yet when I was there I was speechless. I look down at their shared gravestone. THOMAS WAYNE and MARTHA WAYNE lay grimly etched on the grey stone, the power couple of Gotham City. Thomas who was a world renowned surgeon had opened high quality yet affordable medical clinics all over Gotham, Metropolis, New York and Central City. While Martha Wayne, high-rising socialite, leading pharmaceutical researcher and philanthropist._

 _Each one had spearheaded charity campaigns all over the world. They were very important people, and a multibillion dollar company to their name, they were influential. But to me…they were simply mom and dad._

 _It took me a while but I finally noticed that I had remained motionless for a few minutes, people looked at me expectantly for words I could not find. It was then that I had realised the tears start to trickle down my cheeks. I look to Alfred and he offers me a kind and understanding smile, bobbing his head for me to be strong or to decide for myself._

 _I then turn to the rest of my audience, and just like that, without an ounce of thought, I ran…_

…

I woke up to a damp and desolate room, a dark and stony prison with bars keeping us from escape at one end. I shake myself away from the memories, ever haunting my sleep. As if I were not having troubled sleep as it is.

Soon one of the guards opens the doors and another battalion escort me and the other inmates into the open space, a courtyard of sorts if it could even be called one.

It was cold, freezing up here in the mountains of Nepal…at least I think I'm in Nepal. After my dealings with various Triads and gangsters, I have completely lost my bearings as I pass nearer to the Himalayan Mountains.

Why I was now imprisoned I could not tell anymore. I had travelled with a group of well-meaning individuals, activists standing up to a corrupt government. Or perhaps it was the serial murderer I had tracked down in Tibet—tracked down and killed myself.

Regardless, I had travelled across the continent, looking for meaning, for mentors that could enrich my tired mind with purpose. A distraction perhaps, or at least it's what seven years of therapy had shown me. In the end I had found many teachers, I learnt many techniques in unarmed combat, my name even allowed me some military training in Russia. I think that was where I had lost that name completely. My name was Bruce Wayne, all that I ever really needed was to drop my last name, grow a beard and become radio silent for a year and here I am…forgotten...

Even to myself.

Then on that day while breakfast I had unwittingly picked a fight with a couple of thugs I had known from before, wanted for rather grotesque crimes, some even rather silly. I had found myself in far greater odds than six men on one, but in that environment, I didn't survive past knocking out five of them. Maybe I broke the last guy's arm I think, before the guards took me.

Yet it was here when they sent me to solitary confinement that I came face to face with a large figure hiding in the shadows, two guards dead at his feet. They came out of the dark but it wasn't a man in front of me, it was a woman. A beautiful woman of light olive skin tone, black eyes and dark brown hair tied up. I asked her what she wanted, how she got in here and who exactly she was.

The woman smiled and answered only two of my questions. 'I've seen your face in the magazines before, Mr Wayne, though I must admit you don't look as charming or well-groomed as you did five years ago.'

I was taken by surprise and my survival instincts kicked in as I readied myself for a fight. My mind started analysing her various possible moves— Difficult without first observing her movement but not impossible. 'How do you know who I am?'

'Well the world is much too small for someone like Bruce Wayne to just vanish, no matter how hard you try, all it takes is the right person and the right motivations to find you.' She then approached me casually steady. 'As for who I am, just know that I speak on behalf of a man greatly feared in the criminal underworld. In my language he is called Ra's al-Ghul, and he can offer you a path.'

'Demon's Head,' I translated roughly. 'I've heard of you. You're vigilantes, mercenaries.' I crouch down next to a tap and begin to wash up a bit—my face was covered in blood and muck.

'No, no, Mr Wayne, a vigilante is but a man scrambling for his own gratification,' she now stood over me. 'He can be ignored, he can be forgotten, or destroyed or even locked up.'

Clear and cool water splashes upon my face and I look at her as I awaited her answer.

'But if you become more than just a man,' she says, kneeling down to meet me, I guess on equal level and I finally found myself staring into her mesmerising eyes. 'If you dedicate yourself into an idea, then you become something else entirely.'

'And what's that?'

The woman smiles at me as if it was something shared between just us, like I knew the answer already. 'Legend, Mr Wayne. A being that takes on life beyond the physical, and if they can't kill you, then they will fear you for eternity.'

…

I wake up in a cosy room lit with candles, a comfortable enough bed and a blanket to cover me from the cold. Yet my night was far from comforting. My dreams were riddled with nothing but a veil of darkness, as thick as fog, and then a flash of lightning before my eyes. I see the light reflected upon her eyes, my mother's eyes. I stand helpless again.

My chest is beating like a train, even as I sit up and let the sweat fall off of me, I still feel the dread of immediate danger, yet, I knew otherwise, that I was safe here. It was like that gunman was in the room with me, hiding in the shadows just tormenting me with his very existence.

I lay myself back and try to sleep again. I know it would be useless so I just lay awake as I always did outside, surrounded by the screams—my own as well as that of my mother's.

…

'Do you still feel responsible for you parent's deaths?' I regarded that question for a while, letting it linger far longer than I should have. My mentor, seated in front of me had already sensed my answer, perhaps long before he'd asked.

We were in a cave of ice and snow, isolated from the outside world. It was quiet, silent that I could hear my own blood coursing through my veins. I should be cold right now, should be shivering in the winter. I feel indifferent, nothing. 'My anger outweighs my guilt.'

My teacher smiles and rises off the smooth stone base. 'I will teach you not to run away from your fears and your pain but to confront them. You will learn not to ignore your anger, but to channel it into a force of immeasurable strength and endurance. So I ask you, are you ready?'

I rise up to join him and he begins to direct me to the mouth of the cave.

When we got outside—a forest of white snow covered mountains as far as the eye could see. I was at the top of the world with the gods' chilling kiss upon my skin. Welcome to Nanda Parbat.

…

Ra's al-Ghul was the name I had heard throughout my journey into the grimy criminal underworld across the globe. Ra's al-Ghul—in Arabic it means The Demon's Head, in every other language, he is more than that, he is the nightmarish creature that invades the dreams of every criminal unfortunate enough to grab his attention. That's what I hear, that is, everywhere I went, but always in half whispers, as if he were some ancient deity, or curse.

But now, I come to ask him for guidance, to train me. Here in Nanda Parbat, a mountain region in the Himalayas just east of Pakistan, is a grand temple dedicated to this art. They call themselves the League of Shadows, but we all know them as ninjas, as assassins.

We stand the both of us, on the surface of a frozen lake in the mountains. Both of us dressed grey Shinobi shozoku robes and black metallic gauntlets with three spikes sticking out of the forearms. We were armed with a ninjato and without even stating, or waiting for me to find my footing on the slippery ice, he attacked. I was able to block his first few attacks but managed to get cut when he lunged at me to complete a consecutive fifth form strike.

'You know how to fight, but you don't see the connection between the fight and the battle as a whole.' He was a rather effective teacher; patient but firm and his training—rigorous. Within the few days I'd been up here, I've been trained in many forms of martial arts, many disciplines by many masters but with Ra's', there was something behind his teachings. 'Fear can cloud one's judgment. It is a natural instinct that activates to ensure direct survival, perceived survival. But with the right instruction, your fear can be channelled into a lasting weapon. So tell me, what do you fear, Mr Wayne?'

I sighed—that feeling of anguish and absolute loss of direction crashing over me like a truck. 'I fear many things…'

However, to whatever it was I had said, the enigmatic master shook his head and raced up towards me, his blade on his left coming in to lunge at me. I match his attack with my own defence and the steel of our swords ring. 'The physical symptoms of fear may take many forms,' he says, his grip and stance does not weaken. 'Will you let that form define you?'

For the next fifteen minutes was spent with me in defence, staving off his concentrated and lethally precise strikes. To what end eluded me.

'You blame yourself for your parent's death,' Ra's stated, an obvious fact.

I shook my head. 'My anger outweighs my guilt,' I reply and lash at him from the left.

'That will not be necessary,' he then says, a grin appearing which made me feel quite uneasy. 'Your parent's death was not your fault,' I felt it. It may have been nothing but the all so slight pang in my heart…a rising anger. I felt where my footing slipped and lunged at him in the wrong position and my ninjato was caught between the blades on his left forearm. 'It was your father's.'

Ra's shoved me off. I lost my footing and landed on my back, sliding across the lake and my sword now out of my hands. He slides over to my side and prepares an overarm strike at me. I catch the blade in my own gantlets.

'Death does not excuse the fact that your father failed to act when it was necessary.'

I kick the older man off of me and went for my sword a few metres to the side. 'The man had a gun,' I said in my father's defence as I get up onto my feet.

'Would that fact have stopped you, Mr Wayne?'

'I've had training.'

It was at this point that Ra's had begun to explode into a flurry of unpredictable yet highly choreographed attacks and I was just quick enough to dodge. With each strike he punctuated something that really got to me. 'Your training…is…nothing. Will…is…everything!' Somehow, Ra's had managed to unbalance me yet again but this time I felt the ice below me begin to crack. He stood above me, looking down at my defeat. 'The Will to act is what defines a man. Your fear has taken the form of rage and anger, and your Will to act is drowning in it.' I suddenly came to the realisation that my heart rate was erratic. I was far beyond rage and anger. My mentor then kneeled down to help me up. 'You are afraid—but not of me, not of your past and certainly not of death. So tell me Mr Wayne...what are you afraid of?'

I fell silent for a little while, words being held in my head in a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings. I didn't know what to say.

'Your rage can make you stronger, Bruce but if you let it, leave it to fester within your soul, it will destroy you and leave you as nothing but an empty shell ready to be filled with the corruptions of this world.'

I nodded, showing an understanding. 'I came to you, sensei, to ask you to teach me how to use my anger to my advantage, to use fear as a weapon for justice.'

'Then I need you to confront your fear and tame it,' and with that, Ras hands me a steaming pot. He instructs me to breathe…and I do. I breathe in the fumes and feel the effects almost instantly. Then I hear a scream, my mother's screams? No…No, it's a screech, a slight screech that slowly grows, and grows, and grows until my lungs are enveloped within them…

…

 _Into the forest I raced, trying to out run the shadows that chased me, screeching my name—the rage, the pain. Unrefined, I stumbled through the oak pillars and slipped over foliage. I had no destination in mind. I just had to get away. I just had to run._

 _Then, a calling of faith, or the clumsiness of an angry child, I fell. I fell…I fell forever, into a dark crevice in the ground. The Good Mother had swallowed me whole and returned me into darkness._

 _The cave was monstrous. It must have been there for centuries. There, deep in the shadows, I saw red and glowing eyes pierce my very soul. The sudden sound of squeaking voices, a figure in the dark was my destiny, their screeches were my calling. In a violent BANG! I found myself surrounded, engulfed by the winged terrors that haunted my dreams. But at last, I felt my pain forgotten, my anger expelled, and my fears had taken the form of bats._

 _At first I was frozen in fright, shaken to the core as they fluttered at me. I rolled myself into a ball on the rocky ground, drumming my head of the terrors._

 _Then, I decided, to open my eyes—a decision that would change my life forever. There was no turning back._

 _I suddenly saw that night once again. My dad, as he takes the bullet, trying to protect us. My mother, her pleads go unheard, as the man rips her jewellery off of her neck and shoots. I hear my own screams._

 _I stand in the company of the bat— my brethren. I would use their image to strike fear in those who prey on the fearful. I am vengeance…_


	9. Fear Itself

_Legend of the BATMAN:_

* * *

 **FEAR ITSELF**

* * *

 _ **Riverside Dr by the Docks, Gotham.**_

 _ **Sept. 8**_ _ **th**_ _ **2012**_

 _ **01:44 AM.**_

In Cheapside just outside the Red-Light District, Howard Brandan brazenly walks into some of the more seedy parts, into Marko's Terf and get himself a good little slut…a very _little_ slut.

The room Marco had for him was the usual spot, her place or so it seemed she shared a rent or lived with another, another prostitute if he wasn't mistaken. He sat on the bed grinning at the girl approaching him. The thirteen year-old girl did not seem to be nervous at all—her own smile showing a little devilish tinge, she looked like a professional. 'I hear you like it rough?' she says, a sly grin that subtly tried to hide her growing anxiety.

'I hear you can take it.'

The girl sits on his lap, straddling him, looking through his dilated green irises. 'I'm learning new things every day, getting stronger.'

Branden smiled himself. This little girl would soon eat her words. He went through Marko's assets like wildfire, something that the Albanian pimp would have put a stop to when he were still backed by the Falcone family.

Holly Robinson was a new recruit. He had taken her especially for Branden so that the Lieutenant would leave his other assets alone, it would have been bad for business. Thus, he stood at the foot of the stairway, apprehensively nervous, fearful. He could hear it…they've started.

Branden had built up a reputation in the business as a man of violence—aggressively roleplaying his frustrations. He feared to ask for elaboration.

Perhaps he should have.

A loud screaming woke him up in the middle of the night. It wasn't over quickly, so he and his men ran up-stairs, the doors were locked so they kicked the doors down and what they saw…

Branden was not a much liked human being, not even for someone as sleazy as Marko. But seeing the man splayed on the ground in a pool of blood, his face scratched up until his eye balls were ripped open, and Marko's merchandise? Crouched down in a foetal ball in the corner, eyes teary, she was the one screaming and it took him over an hour to calm her down, even with some sedatives in her system.

At around seven they called GCPD and the first guy on the scene was Detective Bullock and that new guy, Gordon. He hadn't yet met him, but judging from the way Branden talks and his own frequent and more violent visits, he suspected he wouldn't like him much.

The GCPD were all over his place, after that, Markus was not allowed anywhere near the room.

Bullock was talking with CSI, canvassing the crime scene for more evidence. Gordon was with the witness.

She was shaky as Gordon understood she was suffering from what he could only guess was a very traumatic night for her, especially someone of her age. Her pimp, Marko, had said she'd been screaming at the top of her head for over four hours. He tried his best, giving her a nice warm cup of green tea. A few minutes with her and he was back upstairs with Bullock.

Branden's body lay chest down, head was found looking down with his hands over his head. His light brown hair now drenched in the dark crimson hue of his own blood. 'The witness is Holly Robinson, one of Marko's new employees and apparently Branden's favourite,' the young detective said with a slight sneer of disgust. 'According to the witness, everything was going as expected…you know…as far as she was concerned. Then when he…finished…' Gordon was really struggling and Harvey Bullock was finding that quite amusing. _He was like a fucking virgin…hard to believe he's married._ '…when he finished, she remembered things got blurry, " _musky_ " were her words. That was when Branden just snapped and started screaming and yelling, scratching his face while repeatedly shouting "Leave me alone" and "Scarecrow". Went onto the floor like he is now and just continued to claw at himself which was when Holly started screaming.'

'Probably when he started ripping his eye lids off,' Bullock estimated.

'Well she says he continued like this for around fifteen more minutes before getting quiet.' Gordon tucked his notebook into his jacket and looked on at the body. CSI had just finished cataloguing the crime scene as best they could and would wait for City Homicide to come in and take the body. 'What do you think—scared to death or psychotic breakdown?'

Harvey crouched down to get a better look at the Branden's face, 'Right after sex?' Bullock asked, waywardly scrutinising his younger charge. 'Howard was a jack-ass but he was one of the bravest jerks I knew—thick headed at times but sharp as steel. Perhaps it was some sort of hallucinogen?'

At this, Gordon shook his head, wearing a slight smug smile he kept to half as he walked around the body. 'You were quick to pass the other guy off as just mentally insane but you won't do the same for Howard Branden?'

As if a fuse was suddenly lit, Bullock got up to meet his partner on levelled ground, eyeing him with intense prejudice and suspicion. 'That's because you don't know Branden like I do, Jim. Maybe no one else at all knew him like I did. You think you were the only one with a troubled past but you aint—not even close.' The scruffy looking detective began to raise his voice, pushing people a little away, knowing the full extent of the potential wrath.

'You don't think that's reason enough to push someone to the limit?' Gordon challenged.

Finally relenting, Harvey dropped it, walking away and back to his previous position before the fuse was lit. He started to speak in his normal tone again, 'I've seen what going past the " _limit_ " looks like, Gordon. This doesn't fit. He was a tough guy. He was really tough…and violent sure, but out of everyone, he'd be the last person I'd see losing it the way he did.'

In a weird way, Gordon understood. Bullock and Branden, they knew each other for over a decade. He'd wager they were more like brothers, growing up side by side…in Gotham City no-less. 'I'll go with Corrigan to the lab and run a toxicology check.' He left Bullock to mourn his dear friend and just outside, the young man took out his phone. '…Listen, Kathy…I know this is out of the blue and I don't wanna inconvenience you but I was wondering if you could look something up for me…Scarecrow. I wanna know what's being said on the streets about some sort of scarecrow monster.'

* * *

 _ **National-Allied University**_

 _ **2:30 PM.**_

'Late one night you find yourself walking home. You hear the soft, crackling sound of something stepping on dry leaves nearby. Your heart begins to race as you imagine who or what lurks in the shadows,' Professor Crane walks across the dark stage, trying not to look at the hundreds of young and nubile faces paying him mandatory attention. 'Are you experiencing fear or anxiety?' As expected there was silence, he saw a shrug from someone in the front row. He continues. 'The differences between these emotions can be confusing. Even in psychology, you will frequently find the concepts used interchangeably. Fears of the unknown, of death, of catastrophe or contamination—a fear of flying, of failure or even success are commonly noted as a " _fear_ " yet they are actually experienced as the emotion of anxiety.

'Similarly, phobias are considered to be an anxiety disorder , even though we think of a phobia in terms of something that is feared, be it insects, heights or enclosed spaces. Yet it is very important to differentiate between fear and anxiety as best as one could.' Finally, Crane returned to the podium, front and centre, finally looking out onto the masses. 'These emotions can transform into behaviours that may lead one to avoid situations or enter defensive mechanisms that obscure the recognition of reality, and consequently have been understood as keys to the dynamics of emotional illness.'

Suddenly, looking out at his students he feels his hands quivering—only slightly, but enough to take him out of the moment for a second. 'Fear is a powerful and primitive emotion, generally considered a reaction to something immediate that threatens your security or safety, a possibility that your physical self might be harmed which in turn motivates you to protect yourself. Thus we have a behavioural trait shared by all animals, the notion of "fight or flight".' He then paused when by happenstance he caught a figure hidden to his left, off stage, waiting for him with their hands resting below their navel. A smile appeared on the young professor's thin face and he felt tension relieved. He turned back to his young and _attentive_ students. 'But fear is a teacher,' he goes on to say. 'The first one you ever have. Fear of starvation is what first prompted you to smile at your mother. Fear of social ostracism is what first made you desperate to please your father. W…when we talk about fear of success, we are talking about the fear of betraying subconscious contractual agreements with, primarily, our parents. Does anyone know what that means?'

He waited, as per protocol, for no response—their own subconscious agreement.

'To put it simply: you may have a secret, unspoken pact with your father never to become more successful than he, or an unspoken understanding that the dreams that your mother harbours for you are more important than your own.' He heard some murmuring within the large lecture hall, his haven on campus that transformed him. 'Instinctively, we know that we cannot survive on our own so we fear more than anything, isolation and social exclusion…

'Now…the biochemical aspects of fear…the brain…' his mind started to slow…or single out a particular memory. 'There have been many experiments conducted to uncover exactly how the brain interprets stimuli, how animals develop necessary fear responses. Fear is, as we've discussed, established unconsciously. Research has seen that the amygdala is involved,' he then looked to his watch: 3pm. 'Next week we will go further into the biochemistry of fear, its circuitry, down to its molecular basis. Tomorrow however, we will explore the behavioural basis and perception, watch the tutorials online if you have questions,' the bell rings their freedom. He permits them.

As they left, Professor Crane walked over to the man in the shadows, grinning at him smugly. He had much to be smug about. 'A shaper of minds…they befit you, Jonathan.'

'It is good to see you again, Dr Strange.' The two men embraced like old friends. Crane smiled fondly at the older man, perfectly round spectacles, bearded across the jaw though above his lip was closely shaved. He stood upright, very straight, as someone of his academic stature and naturally developed arrogance would.

Hugo Strange was one of his greatest and closest mentors. All of his life he'd been a pariah, never fitting in but Strange showed him that it could be a good thing so he took Dr Strange's Psychology classes, shadowed him around when he was working at Behavioural Analysis and built up his own profiles.

Now, Crane was a teacher, preaching everything he'd learnt from his own experiences and from everything that Dr Strange had ever taught him. Yeah, he idolised the man.

Strange took the young professor's bag and handed it to him, 'Come, Jonathan, let us walk.' As the two citizens of Academia walked through campus, they exchanged familiar pleasantries packed full of nostalgia and rather good memories. 'I'm very proud of you, Jonathan,' Dr Strange finally told him causing a slight smile to appear on the university professor's thin, pale face.

They passed by a couple of his students who smiled and waved to him where he returned the gesture and continued. Hugo saw that smile and more than anything he understood that gratifying feeling.

'Adoration is a drug, my boy,' he counselled.

Crane acknowledged his words with a humble nod. 'It's a very effective drug, especially on first experiences,' though he seemed unbothered, there was a slight hiccup in his tone. 'I spent most of my life an observer, not by choice but circumstance. The only time I get recognition would be a negative one. It's strange to see it changed so much here…now.'

They had now entered into the parking lot—Strange had said that he parked his Royce on the level above his. Now with the twelve level parking lot deserted, Dr Strange's voice receded into whispers, though not devoid of confidence and surety. 'I also want to talk to you…'

Crane chuckled and stopped his professor from continuing. 'Yes, Doctor, I conducted the research last night, the response was as we predicted.' He looked around him with caution and once satisfied were his paranoia, he directed his mentor to the back railings behind Strange's fancy looking old-timer car. 'The toxin given to subject three, in solution form was not responsive.'

'At all?'

'Not until I had him exposed to focussed microwaves designed to turn states, even within the body. His body succumbed to the drug's effects within seconds.' Crane handed him a file.

'So the drug is an inhalant,' he deduced reading the detailed analysis with much interest.

'And the effects are as we had originally suspected,' Crane added, 'the subject entered into a heightened state of fear, stimulating a chemical reaction similar to those experiencing immense emotional and psychological trauma and paranoid schizophrenia.'

'This is a breakthrough, Professor,' the wizened Psychiatric Physician smiled up at his former protégé. 'Why don't you pay my lab a visit, Jonathan? I have a few more samples that I'd like you to take a look at.'

Crane's face contorted slightly and when Strange inquired if there was a problem, Crane sued for forgiveness. 'It's just that I've never actually been to the Narrows before.'

* * *

 _ **G.C.P.D.**_

 _ **12:00 P.M.**_

'So what'd you got, Corrigan?'

Bordering on vexed, Corrigan ripped his gloves off and shot it away. 'I don't know what you expect me to find, Jim. I've been searching, run toxicology about a dozen times and it's all negative.' Corrigan re-covered the body and moved to his desk.

'Well Bullock thinks that he was poisoned.'

Corrigan sighed as he started to jot down his findings. There was no signs of narcotics in his system, no traces of invasive substances…

A light had suddenly hued atop Jim Gordon's head. _So far the striking connections were the words "scarecrow",_ he thought to himself, looking down at his notes. 'What was cause of death?'

'Cardiac arrest,' he answered a little too quickly.

Gordon was starting to get real impatient. 'Yeah, you see, that's what doesn't make sense. Branden had no previous history of heart problems or prolonged stress. He was completely healthy.'

The CSI shrugged at him, 'I don't know what to tell you, Gordon—'

Officer Langley burst into the lab calling on the Lieutenant. 'Gordon, we've got a Ten-Ninety at Mid and FiDi. Party clown by the name of Pagliacci thought he could hold his own bank robbery by himself. Normally I wouldn't trouble you, sir, but the man has a military grade sub-machine gun and scouts say he's got C4 all over the nave.' Jim affirmed, bade Corrigan contact him if anything changes in the case and walks out with Langley. 'We were wondering if you'd assist and instruct before S.W.A.T tries to intervene. Thirty hostages the boys would love to see alive, sir.'

'Don't sweat it, kid. Let's go.'

* * *

 _ **The Narrows**_

 _ **08:45 P.M.**_

Murky fog always seemed to settle within the streets around Arkham Asylum and always filled his bones with an ungodly chill of uneasiness. It quickly flushed away the rather comedic job of apprehending a washed up man in a clown getup struggling to operate both a gun and his explosives. He refused to take his clown mask off to hide his embarrassment, on Gordon's orders they decided to preserve what little dignity the man had.

Gordon shared a laugh with the men, people who'd wanted him dead only days ago. Comedy had a way of bringing people together…but all that was gone now as he and his contact met at a corridor of houses leading up to the bridge for the infamous mental institute. An antiquated structure, planted upon a small inlet, with a large unkempt yard dating back to when the region was mostly open country.

It was a symbol of all that is unutterably hideous, with its gables so crooked and awkward, pointed towers stood uneven and gave it a sinister look like horns of the devil himself leering to those who passed it. Yet, the house was—and for that matter still is—of a kind to attract the attention of the curious. It followed the average New England colonial lines of the middle eighteenth century and dictated by the progress of taste and style at the time. Many attempts had been to modernise the facility whereabouts most of the Georgian interior were removed. The east and west wings were now of mostly steel and glass but still looked out of place despite efforts to seamlessly blend them in with stone embroidery that covered the titanium frame.

From the front door, a large roundabout that united the roads from the east, south and western gate, though each road led to the Narrows anyway, it was the eastern roads that entered into narrow streets and alleys. These dark alleyways and dirty corners that smelt of blood, piss and cum were the only childhood Kathy Kane ever saw…the Narrows. As a girl, she learnt to remain quiet and observe the world around her. She had never seen much use beyond her own survival.

That was until she met Jim Gordon. Long story short, she agreed to be his eyes and ears on the Narrows and Cheapside districts.

'They took the south entrance,' she told the cop while still perfectly veiled in the shadow of the alleyway, 'Trucks and lots of them. Ma saw them all, escorted by like three— I think, detective cars.'

'Okay, did you see anything else?'

Kathy hesitated for a while, being cautious on what she should say or omit. 'Well I decided it was better if I took a closer look…so I climbed the wall.' She paused to see if the Detective Gordon was giving her that disapproving look he gave the time he caught her snatching people's wallets straight out of pockets in Mid-Town. 'Anyway…I saw them take out like more than a dozen oil drums and carry them inside. I heard loud screams coming from there a just yesterday. My uncle Trent was sent there last year though he was completely sane, but when we visited yesterday, he was under intense surveillance, completely nuts, raving about scarecrows and shit.'

Gordon sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. _It's always a_ _ **scarecrow**_ , he thought. _Why's it always a_ _ **scarecrow**_ _?_

So against his better judgment, he followed in Kathy's footsteps. He climbed over the wall, luckily seeing as he was taller and didn't need to look for a shallow section of the protective moat surrounding the facility, though now he stressed to find an excuse to why he was covered from the neck down in Gotham shit-water. Barb was already on her back about getting beaten up by his own colleagues. Sure he didn't tell his wife that they threatened her as well but he didn't really need to. She read through him like a check-list.

She definitely would have flipped out if she ever saw him here, now.

Usually he would be able to just walk in the front door but after seeing Loeb's Alpha Romeo pull up in from the front gate, he knew he had made the right call. Apparently Loeb paid regular visits to Arkham the past few months. Sometimes he'd notice a change in Loeb's posture, his tone, cracks in his hard and cold demeanour that he used to wear as a medal of honour.

Jim climbed the tall building and disguised himself as an orderly and followed the pair of well-dressed old men, hidden in the shadows of some of the offices. Luckily for him they were more or less connected to each other so he could tail them easily.

Falcone embraced his old friend. 'I'm glad I could intercept you, my friend,' the Italian beamed and they started walking. 'I take it you're here for la tua bella figlia?'

The Police Commissioner nodded rather uncomfortably. He was confident by now that he was no novice to the system of Gotham but with Falcone, it seemed more difficult to know when he was being threatened, or given a friendly pat on the back. 'And you? Arkham is the last place I would expect to find you, Don Falcone.'

The Italian gangster suddenly became serious. 'Well I truth you'd be right. This place never sat well with me and Signore Strange is a creepy old man. But I have an appointment with Dr Strange, something to help me manage the city a little better. Which reminds me—I hear that you are having trouble with new rookie.'

Loeb let out a groan, 'Gordon, apparently he's some sort of legacy. Family's been in the Force for generations. Plus now the public seems to hold him in high regard, a hero.'

'Fucker, he might be a bigger problem now than we thought before. Get him under control, ameco. His meddling is not good for business. More than a hundred thousand bucks worth of arms and ammunition gone, along with my buyers and sellers. '

There were rooms on their right and left, and noise banging from them furiously trying to get out. Falcone grunted uncomfortably, and trying hard not to gaze at the small windows on the doors, at the inside and the crazies locked within.

'I'm working on it, my friend,' said Loeb, rubbing his head. 'I'm trying to get rid of him but its proving a lot harder now that Gotham is growing to idolise it, even some of your inside-men seem to revere him.'

Falcone chuckled at his old friend. 'That's why you don't merely get rid of him, mio amico. Gli uomini dovrebbero o da lo spettacolo o completamente distrutti.'

'Machiavelli?'

'Universal wisdom, my friend,' Don Falcone smirked. _Men ought either to be indulged or utterly destroyed…_

The two walked the rest of the way in hushed whispers about their distrust in the facility. Arkham Asylum had always given them the creeps. The stories that came out of this place were enough to give Falcone nightmares for years.

Dr Strange stood at the end of the dark and eerie corridor, hands behind his back as he awaited his important and powerful guests. Carmine Falcone marched into Strange's office, accompanied by the Police Commissioner.

'Good evening, sirs,' the short and stout man greeted them with a courteous bow, putting his round spectacles into his coat's chest pocket. 'I must say as pleasant as it is to receive you, sirs, I must confess this is unexpected and I am at a disadvantage.'

'Nothing serious, Doctor, just had some questions rise up,' Loeb assured the stout psychologist. 'Things we'd prefer not to let out and I would assume you would too.'

To this Hugo laughed though more to himself than anything. He was sure however it may have come out as a little bit arrogantly. 'I try not to trouble myself with the opinions of others, especially once I see they are inconsequential to my work. I find it's a lot easier to do what I do when I drown out the useless noise.'

'Well that noise, as useless as it may seem is annoying the fuck out of me.' Falcone huffed. 'Our interests are your interests, Strange. You have no idea how dirty your hands are.'

Then Hugo asked what it was that the two men wanted of his time.

'I've come to visit my daughter, Doctor,' Loeb told him. 'Carmine here just wants to make sure that his investment's not gone to waste.'

The stout little man regarded his guests with scepticism. But now he seemed more affronted than anything and had half a mind to voice his opinions. 'As I understand it,' he starts, hands in his coat pockets, 'Don Falcone, you have pulled support of my work completely,' his crazed orbs following him intensely. 'You've stopped my income of unwitting subjects, now we all know that before you use a weapon…you need to know if it works and you've cut me off just to keep some of your thugs out of a little jail time.'

Falcone took offense to this. 'Hey Doc, you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. I've brought you the shipments, at great cost.'

'Yes and we've paid you all in full with reassurance of more coming in as long as you do the same.'

Again, Falcone was not amused, walking over the old man. 'Maybe money don't mean nothing to me so much as favours—that's the real currency here.'

Beyond his own control, Hugo flinched ever so suddenly but even so he was mentally punishing himself for his weakness. 'I am well aware, Carmine that you are not intimidated by me.'

'Huh, sure as hell hope so. I remember beating the crap out of you in high school.'

Commissioner Loeb looked like he was about to step in and separate them before things escalated. Carmine Falcone was not known for dropping an issue by himself. It usually took someone close to him to snap him out of his blood rage.

The tension between the Italian and the doctor was on a fritz. Falcone looked like he was about ready to knock the guy out but Dr Strange was calm, unmoved. His brown eyes focused and his hands behind his back, resting just above his waist.

'Alright that's enough!' Loeb asserted himself, pushing Dr Strange back against his desk. 'Remember who you work for, Hugo. It was our money and influence that took you out of the gutters. It was Falcone and I who scrubbed your records clean…all we ask is for you to comply, give us what we asked for.'

'And remember, we have the means to throw you back where we found you…you and that puny student of yours.' Falcone held the man to the desk, his index finger raised in hostility. He was referring to Crane of course. How he knew about his prodige was beyond him, but that hardly seemed to matter. 'So just deliver those drugs and we'll keep our mouths shut.'

Hugo suddenly smiled. 'About what? You don't know anything.' He stared Falcone right in the eye defiantly but it was Loeb that answered.

'We know you don't want us to take a closer look at the second half of the drugs you had us ship out to Pakistan. We know about the illegal experiments you perform on the inmates of Arkham.' This took Hugo by surprise but he remained in control of whatever turmoil lay within. 'You see we don't do business with anyone and not keep tabs on what they do. We don't do business without finding out about every last skeleton in the cupboard, every dirty little secret.'

Again the psychologist remained emotionless though a slight grin appeared on his bearded face that caused Falcone to back away slowly. 'Your point is duly noted, Commissioner,' he fixed up his tie and gestured for them to follow him. 'I am most grateful of what you've given me. I've taken the initiative to call for Miriam when I heard you were on your way. She's waiting in the room, I'll turn the camera's off.'

Loeb gave him an uneasy smile and thanked him. A regular sized room, blank on all sides with two way glass at the very end connected to another room. There on a desk was his daughter, the spitting image of his ex-wife. But there was something off.

The doors shut behind him and he heard the clicking of the metal locks. There was something wrong with her, with his daughter and it wasn't just her condition…

The walls melted away to reveal they were in a glass room.

But before Loeb could reach her fragile daughter, a solid wall of glass descended between them. Loeb was banging on the glass, trying to beak it, obviously he was doing close to nothing against it. 'Miriam!' he cried. 'What are you doing to her?!'

His question went unanswered as Dr Strange stalked around the glass cage. Then his daughter's compartment began to smoke up. All of a sudden, Miriam began to thrash about, waving her arms about, swatting at ghosts in the thick air.

'What are you doing to my daughter?!'

Then, like a phantom immerging out of the smoke, walking towards his beloved Miriam—a monster…The Batman? No…a man dressed somewhat in a dirty old straitjacket and stitched up potato bag head. His loose straps dragged on the floors in an eerily threatening way.

Then a raspy voice like a hissing, spectral and almost unworldly, 'Do you know what fear truly is, Commissioner?'

Loeb had started to bang on the glass, still crying out for her. As for Miriam, at the mere sight of the figure, hovering over her, she recoiled. The only words that seemed to be able to come from her was 'Scarecrow…scarecrow,' over and over again.

The Scarecrow came closer, placing his callous hands, wrapped in tattered bandages, touching her neck delicately. He held her facing the Commissioner. He glided closer, whispering distantly.

Falcone tried to punch through the glass but it was no use. He turned to the psychologist, who was looking as crazy as the inmates. 'I want you to remember what fear looks like, Mr Falcone—what deep fear looks like. Fear is the catalyst of which all other emotions are born of, even pain. It's what makes us stronger than most species, what makes us advanced. Because we know to be afraid of danger, we know how to survive. We know to avoid what we fear, and what we fear most is death.'

'Fear is the most powerful emotion in the human consciousness,' the scarecrow boomed. 'It defines who you are and what you're made of, so tell me, Loeb; who are you?' It was not clear who the ragged man was speaking to, holding Miriam's head close to him, but he looked out toward the Commissioner. The toxic gas snaked around him as though they were bewitched. He pulled her little chin, breathing down her face. 'There is nothing to fear but fear itself…'

On the outside, Falcone was helpless, but at the same time, he was fascinated by the display before him. What he could do with this drug was unimaginable. He could clean out the Russians permanently, have full control of Gotham itself, he couldn't lie the prospect was appealing.

One of his closest and most loyal of friends, the toughest guy he knew was laying on the ground, completely shitting himself, his fucked up daughter's issues dialled up to a hundred. He was calling out for her and that scarecrow looking man was standing over them both. But her, the kid, she was traumatised and Falcone got the sense it was not from the scarecrow. _Fuck, knew Gill's into a lot of fucked up shit but I didn't..._

'Well?' Dr Strange stared at him, hands crossed and leaning on his desk, smiling from ear to ear in that creepy psycho killer way he does. _I sure know where to find 'em,_ he mused. 'Are we impressed? Is everything as you wanted, signor Falcone?'

Carmine was floored, his gaze glued to his friend not reduced to nothing but a shivering mess, and…he really did shit himself.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Gordon didn't know what to make of what he was seeing. Some sort of torture, or a messed up religious cult? There was a man dressed head to toe in a potato sack smoking weed, a kid and her dad was screaming and kicking around like they had Tourette Syndrome.

What could he do?

Two shots were fired at the glass in the room. Jim ran in and shattered the glass. Loeb was an asshole but his daughter was an innocent. He needed to save the kid.

With his gun pointed at the psychologist and the Roman gangster, Jim proceeded to dictate the Miranda Rights. Perhaps he was acting a little bit rashly. It wouldn't be the first time. Whatever that smoke was, it was flooding through the window screen he just shot out. It was in him now. His vision was becoming distorted and unfocused.

He saw Strange give some sort of device to Falcone who put it over his nose and mouth. Some sort of mask to filter the fog. He saw them surround him…wait but there were only Strange and Falcone…and the Scarecrow. Now he was faced with hundreds of them. The police lieutenant felt a sharp pain as he was knocked to the ground.

He looked up expecting to see that sack head but when he did, when he stared out into the fog and what emerged out with had stopped his heart. 'Barbara?'

His wife walked up towards him but she wasn't…her eyes were vacant, unmoving. Her face…no he couldn't look. Her jaw was ripped open, hanging only by a thread of muscle. It was just like what he saw all those years ago, when he was a kid…the reason he and his mom left Gotham.

She had in her hands a baby, wrapped in up in a crimson cloth. It was blood, painting the floor in red. More blood was dripping from her mouth and then she started to speak, or at least try to, 'Nothing to fear but fear itself.' She raised an axe he hadn't seen her holding before and then raised it to strike.

Gordon could feel his fingers slipping on his pistol and was about to spring into action when a hand roughly pulled him back. When he saw who it was he was frozen stiff. It was the Batman.

The image of the Batman, his cape draping behind him that looked like it were made of bats, flapping their wings, burnt into his memories. He walks toward the smoke, Falcone had retreated to God knows where, and even Hugo Strange had seemingly vanished. Barb had gone too, and the Scarecrow stood in her place, awaiting the vigilante. That was the last thing he remembered seeing before darkness overtook him.

When Gordon's eyelids finally parted, he found himself no longer in a hostile room but in open space with a chill running up his forearm. He felt a shadow pass over him had his orbs pop out like saucers. His vision was a little fuzzy and his ears were ringing but he could see him, the Batman, or at least the back of him, climbing up onto a ledge and then as quickly as he appeared he was gone again.

It was hard but I got myself up onto my feet and explored. He was on the roof of Arkham, but he now saw that the place had erupted into lights. Red and blue lights were everywhere now yet all that Jim could see was hellfire, hear the screams of the damned masquerading as voices shouting his name, and the image of his wife, her face contorted in agony, pain of betrayal burning through him.

He was shaking and not even the weariness could stop it, like his body had been hijacked for the sole purpose of shivering. He was still grasping his gun, but he could not let go, and something told him he could never let go.

— _ **Legend of the BATMAN—**_

 **Author's Note:**

 **I've been playing with the notion of making these chapters separate stories and one-shots. As such I am open to include stories written by others, giving you acknowledgement for your work of course. I just feel it might give credence to its name as Legend of the Batman. If anyone is interested, just write the story out and then copy and paste it as a private message and make sure you include a by-line as well.**

 **For this story, I made the mistake of leaving it half done for months, the tone seems a little miss matched a bit but I tried. Lesson to be learnt here was that if you have an idea, write it down, even if it doesn't seem presentable. People change with every passing moment and how I was and thought when I started had changed after months of inaction.**

 **I find a fascination with this type of psychology. Fascinated by what causes certain types of emotions in a person and how they affect actions. I'm no expert so as a CAUTION: NOTHING I WRITE SHOULD BE INTERPERATED AS MEDICAL FACT.**


	10. The Abyss

_**LEGEND**_ _of the_ _ **BATMAN**_

 **THE ABYSS**

Have you ever had a day when things just don't go your way?

Have you ever looked around you and noticed the happy smiles of those…fortunate people, and wondered…Why don't I feel like that?

Life's pleasures slip through your fingers or fade into dreams and replaced by nightmares.

Have you ever looked at your life and see its foundations crumble upon itself, fallen into a dark abyss of emptiness? Dark and cold, filled with damp, ambiguous-shaped vomit. Vile and repulsive little brutes.

Have you ever just had a very bad day?

I'm not a religious man, never have been, well not since my mother's death. I've never much seen the use of it—faith, religion. What manner of gods hold this spec of a universe in their hands and do absolutely nothing. Useless. God could only be one at once. If He was this All-powerful God, then perhaps He isn't an all good one, and if He is an all good, benevolent God, then He isn't as powerful as He proclaims. No I don't blame gods for when he suddenly decides to sock me in the balls.

But don't let me get ahead of myself.

It all started…maybe on a Tuesday…or was it a Saturday? Funny how when you have absolutely no working obligations, that days seem to blur into each other and a whole week could feel like a whole hour. Even funnier was that that was my problem. I needed money, I needed work…I needed a way to provide for my family.

Well…I did…

For four years, my daughter had been fighting cancer…I can't even remember what kind, but two weeks ago we lost. Two weeks ago we pulled the plug. Healthcare just didn't cover it and for a while we were able to keep it afloat…but it wasn't enough. And my wife, Jeanie blamed me. She always puts the blame on me.

I felt like colour drained from my eyes or perhaps this city was always like that. Work should have tipped me off of how shit the day would go. I mean, working at ACE Chemicals was never a joyride, but that day just...

Waking up at 2:30 am, got fined by the cops for running a red light after two kids tailgated me. Coffee machine broke down and when I put five dollars in the vending machine for some Red Bull, the fucking machine ate it up.

My colleagues were watching me, with their own coffees, one of them probably broke the coffee machine. "The fucking machine ate my money," I explained. I could feel their pity, their eyes full of condescending judgment. "I mean, it shouldn't matter, right…it doesn't matter. It's just…I worked hard for that cash I…I…" I started kicking that metal box as hard as I could, not sure it did any good.

At nine, an announcement came over the radio that Gill, someone working my division was promoted, and I mean, the guy only just started and I've been slaving away for eight years. Not complaining. But then my boss calls me up to his office, I thought, finally, maybe they've notice how hard I work every day, not even asking for a raise or overtime money.

I was a fucking schmuck.

The first thing he brings up is that incident last week with Sherri, a new intern who accused me of sexual assault at Ben's promotion party. They were false but everyone was intoxicated so really, I had no alibi. So they fired me. Sure they acknowledged my work and loyalty, but it wasn't enough and what did they give me for my hard work? A small pocket knife with my name on it. They gave me two days to clear my stuff and afterwards, as my car was company owned, they'd be getting that back too.

To celebrate my new unemployment promotion, I went to a convenient store in the corner for a six pack and a raspberry slushie. Two teenagers, two punks came at me trying to get me to surrender my drinks so I told them they weren't old enough for beer and they took a jab at my slushie, saying I was a little too old for it myself. They knocked my drink out of my hands and it spilt everywhere.

I came home feeling like shit.

Maybe I shouldn't have. The first thing I heard when I came through the door of my house was the sound my wife made in the throes of ecstasy. I kept telling myself that it was just my imagination, or a hallucination or something, even as I walked through the hallway and saw the discarded clothes, only some were hers, I kept this delusion until I opened the door to our bedroom, and there she was, hands on the wall as she rode some stranger in our marital bed. They were sweaty, her beautiful raven hair was glossy, rocking to and fro like she was galloping on a race horse, and she kept screaming his name. ' _Frank! Oh Frank!_ ' Oh how I wished I could wring his little neck! He was some Puerto Rican dude, a local detective.

We all remained silent after they were done. I waited in the kitchen, my pocket knife in my hand and when he came out we locked gaze, my grasp on the knife tightened and he put up his hands and backed out of the house.

It was even more quiet when Jeanie came out. She thought those teary eyes would stop me from…well I did nothing. I wanted to shout at her, to hit her, but I did nothing and walked out with her sobbing behind me. It would have just been too easy to blame it on our daughter's death, to admit that this trauma was taking a toll on our lives, and that Jeanie'd grappled longingly for breath out of the muck she left us in.

But that's the thing isnt it. Whether we want to admit it or not, as human beings...we are a selfish, fiendish sort. God's greatest mistake was giving us free will and expecting us to just...behave. Jeanie didnt even wear her guilt on her, poised in with dignation though also pouting like a wounded dog. But I loved her dearly and there's no excuse for me. Besides, she wasnt all that bad; I kept telling myself as I walked down the empty streets, heading out of the Narrows. She was my greatest source of support in my earlier years, in my earliest memories of her...of us.

I spent the rest of the evening at the bar. I still had favours to cash in, at least seven years' worth of alcohol. It was here where I was contracted by a group of men, Mafia folks in all suites and shit, rounded on me and asked if I worked at ACE Chemicals. I said "Sure, well I used to work there, you know. But the place was a drag, depressing, felt like a cemetery only with more colours in the wrong places. I quit like a month or so ago."

"But would you, say, know your way around the place?" one of these thugs asked me.

Again, I just said "Sure. I've got a very good memory."

They wanted me to guide them and their bros through the factory and laboratory and they were willing to pay an exponential amount of money for my services.

One could imagine my response.

Only the other day I had work at a bar, stand-up comedy somewhere in the Narrows for extra cash…Hey, I guess it really was a Saturday then.

My material was really based on masters like Robin Williams, Jerry Seinfeld or Kevin Hart, but not crossing the line to Louis C.K. Maybe that was the problem. The world never seems to know what exactly it is that it wants. Too offensive and the world will rip you to shreds, not offensive enough and you're a pussy little snowflake.

It was a tough crowd. People booed me before I was done and the boss don't pay for unfinished. I returned home to Jeanie with no money, the lab held my pay for ransom, I was half beaten by some hooligans that really, just continued to beat me up once they found I had nothing to steal. Of the two of us, Jeanie was the stable one—a good enough job so a well flowing income, she's hot, head cheerleader at our high school and you know what, sometimes I wonder what it is she sees in me? A broke, failed comedian who had no shred of talent for the life of him.

Sometimes I feel it, her judgements of me, dad's lack of respect for me, it all boils down to one thing…money…

So I said "Yeah, okay, I'll do it." I'll work for the mob for a night or two, get the cash and leave it all behind. I told them as much so they knew there was no issue of trust, I wouldn't give a fuck about what they were doing. My heart and mind was just so into this rage, this hatred, but I just didn't know where it went…well maybe I did.

That night we were outside the barbed wire fence. Usually no one ever really broke into the plant. No one is that stupid to risk dying from fumes or whatever urban legend that passed around the Narrows. They had me dress in this get-up, I was in my wedding tuxedo but they also wanted me to put on a red helmet and cape and told me it was for added anonymity. I didn't question it.

Inside was quiet, no sound whatsoever. The mafia guys told me to lead them to the boss's office, said they were looking for some files about some weird flowers or whatnot. We barely made it to my boss's office when we ran into security. The two Italians failed to tell me that they had tried to get in themselves before, that had the board of directors to ramp up security, I guess.

Anyway, they didn't hesitate to throw me under the bus and told them that I was the mastermind of the operation. Then the cops showed up and who was among them but Frank himself, or more accurately Detective Frank Garcia of the GCPD Major Crimes Unit or so I'm now told.

That was all the egging I needed and snatched a gun from one of the Italians and opened fire, I hit Frank in the arm and then some where close to the dick I think. But I didn't want to kill the guy. That just wasn't me.

So I used the opportunity of them tending to Frank to run up to the roof. I knew there were some long wiring that came from the roof of the facility down to the power box on the other side of the parking lot.

For that I needed to pass over the room with all of the chemical tanks. I myself never really went into that room, it creep me out and I was always afraid of falling into one of the pools of God knows what.

I clanked up the metal steps and toward that large room. I finally felt my heart start to race. A rickety metallic bridge suspended across the room a few feet above the many pools of bubbling chemicals ranging from many different colours and fascinating odours as well.

I was scared shitless, but I had to cross, the cops were marching up to me as I spoke. I began my crossing, slowly first. The smoke and toxins were almost too much to bare even with the helmet I was wearing.

In hindsight, I kinda wished it were. When the clanking stopped and I saw no men in uniform behind me, I breathed a sigh of relief…then as I sprinted across the bridge I bumped into something hard. I gotta tell ya, that helmet made it damn well impossible to see anything with. Everything was bloody red—all except that guy though. I had heard about it, I heard the cops wanted to keep it under wraps, but it ain't something you could just sweep up. Word went out, even to someone who didn't give a shit about it like me.

A black, horned devil standing over me. Its eyes, glowing white and empty, I almost felt a sort of kindred to it, its emptiness. His leathery wings cloaked him and he approached…slowly, torturously and I tried to plead with it, beg for my life with it, told this demon that I was being implicated and that I didn't mean things to get out of hands. I thought it was just some light corporate espionage, only their wallets were going to feel it. But Satan doesn't care for excuses. I sinned and I belong in the fires of hell.

He moved like lightning, disarming me before I could even think and the next thing I knew, I was holding onto the edge of the platform, dangling over the hot bubbles, ACE Chemical's signature product. And the Batman? He didn't do anything, just stood over me, even as I reached out for him. He just backed away into the mists and finally…my hands lost their grip. I don't know what it was…no actually I did, I just started laughing. It wasn't some maniacal laughter, devoid of reason, it was a nervous, hopeless laugh. I wasn't going to make it.

I fell, fell for forever, into a blinding light. And then there was nothing. I fell into the toxic goo and felt like I was burning, like God dragged Dante into the fire, the dark fire, now it was my turn. Memory's so treacherous. My whole life flashed before my eyes. One moment you're lost in a carnival of delights, poignant childhood aromas, the flashing neon of puberty, all that sentimental candyfloss. It was very boring…Hah!

I wasn't dead…or maybe I was?

I clutched and scraped and scratched my way out of the sewer drains. I was dizzy…my head hurt… _I'm itchy all over!..._

My red helmet, whatever material it was seemed to become irrelevant, it started to peel away as I lifted myself up…at first it was all white. So bright to my eyes I didn't know, I didn't realise my eyes were closed.

Then my sight returned to me, little by little, fickle lights that took shape, but what I saw, while I was on my knees, on all fours and staring down into a puddle of water, staring down into a reflection I no longer recognised…no I finally saw it—a reason to be happy, a reason to smile for…

Memories can be vile, repulsive little brutes. Like children, I suppose. But can we live without them? Memories are what we base our reasons upon. If we can't man up and face them, look into the dark everyday abyss, then we deny reason itself…

Then again…why not?

We aren't contractually tied down to rationality in its horrid ideals and hollow promises. There isn't any sanity clause, not really.

So when you find ourselves trapped in the unpleasant train of thought , heading at sonic speed for places where screaming echoes and rings, screeching in our ears like the tired nag of loved ones, unbearable…just remember, always remember…there's always madness….

"HmmmmmrrrrrrrrhahahahahahHaHahHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEEEEEEEH, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, aLL iT toOK WaS ONe VEry BAD dAyHahahahahahHaHahHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH, hahahahahahHaHahHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEEEEEEEH!"


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